


The Milk of Human Kindness I: Derek's First Taste

by Always_Bottom_Derek



Series: Milk of Human Kindness Verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Always, Anal Sex, And A Hell Of A Lot More - Freeform, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, But not the funny kind, Collars, Copious Mount of Cum, Cultural Bestiality, Cunnilingus, Dehumanization, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Femdom, Fucking Machines, Gags, Gangbang, Hucow/Dairy-were, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Lactation, M/M, Master/Pet, Mentions of Strap-ons, Milking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Derek, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation, breeding talk, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Bottom_Derek/pseuds/Always_Bottom_Derek
Summary: Origins of the "Milk Verse" or "How Stiles Became the Proud Owner of Dairy-were Derek."Gifted to Nath_Happiness because of past awesome reviews. Plus, I think they like to see Derek cry as much as I do.





	1. Spoiled Milk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nath_happiness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nath_happiness/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes.
> 
> Yes.
> 
> I know.
> 
> I haven't finished "Derek's Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard."
> 
> So what am I doing, starting another fic?
> 
> *Taps noggin*
> 
> But it's all in here.
> 
> I will finish that story after I lay out this "prequel." Why? Because that's how my personal brand of fictional ADD works.
> 
> NOW A WARNING in case you don't read tags...
> 
> So, while the story, "Derek Cries Over Spilt Milk," that started this series was pretty light (or as light as a dystopian AU where supernatural creatures are enslaved for the pleasure and use of humans could be), this story is not.
> 
> Poor Derek really gets it in every possible way for about the first six chapters and then in new ways thereafter.
> 
> So, if rape fics and humiliation aren't your cups of tea, you should just turn and walk away from this fic now.
> 
> Quickly.
> 
> But if you're dark and mean and twisted like I am, you might really like this fic.
> 
> Give it a shot and let me know.

Kate pushed through the doors of K-barn’s main quarters into its milking salon. The soft huffs and chuffs of the stalled werewolves behind her settling into their straw nests for the night followed her in. Once the double steel doors swung closed, however, the milking salon fell quiet, save for the low dripping of some of the room's many faucets.

Like everything else at the Argent’s dairy-were farm, the salon was spotless. A favorite among regional inspectors, her father and founder of Argent Farms, Gerard Argent, was a perfectionist with his product.

Seeing the Argent patriarch standing across the room staring at her now, however, shocked Kate enough she almost lost her grip on the loose strapon harness she held in her hand.

It appeared daddy had finally discovered her dirty little secret and, understandably, he was far from pleased about it.

“Kate. Here. Now.”

She didn’t hurry as she made her way across the white tiles. The milking technicians had only recently left for the night and the floor was still wet from their cleaning. Moving past the rows of empty milking stalls now only occupied by their gleaming equipment, she headed over to where her father stood at the head of the one stall that was the exception.

“What the fuck is this, Kate?” Gerard pointed to the gagged male werewolf chained to the floor, on his knees, shivering around the mechanical stimulator his ass was impaled on.

“How long has this been going on?”

“I… Look, Dad….”

“Don’t you ‘look dad’ me, Katherine!” He held out his phone.

He’d obviously scanned the barcode attached to tag piercing the Hale dairy-were’s left ear that bore the number 1187 and pulled up his diminished production stats. But the wolf’s waning harvests weren’t what had him incensed.

“All the tests we give, the expensive calf screenings. This stock should have been culled or sold years ago. I cannot believe you forged its papers.

“Six years… Six goddamn years you’ve known this Hale milker is a bitch.”

He motioned to the dildo in her hands. “For a moment, let’s forget about your disgusting little hobby. But for fuck’s sake, Kate! Please tell me you haven’t been synthesizing its product with the rest of our studs!”

Kate shifted uncomfortably under his stare, her hands nervously twisted the straps of her undonned harness. Already heavy with its fourteen inch-long, knotted silicone cock, it seemed to have suddenly tripled in weight..

“Studies that say a male bitch’s milk is no different really than a regular stud’s,” she offered in her defense. “And it’s actually a little more nutritious.

“And there are emerging specialty markets…”

“I don’t give a shit about studies or chi chi buyers. What I care about are _my_ customers! We’re an old school outfit and so’s our general consumer! Our male clients, in particular, don’t want to take a bitch male’s milk supplement in their virility drinks.”

Gerard waved his lean arms and shouted, “six fucking years, Katherine! You haven’t been ‘specialty marketing’ this bitch’s milk for six years. Unless you doctored its production records too, its product has been going into your weekly volume reports!”

Even though these words weren’t shouted at him directly, the male dairy-were bitch in question cowered as much as his situation allowed, distressed by Gerard’s loudness and, more likely than not, memories from his calfhood of what followed such outbursts from this particular owner.

“Do you know the lawsuits we’ll face if the public knows our product has been tainted? The number of customers we have in six years of consumption?

“I market ‘pure stud power’ in our male were-milk! If this gets out we’re ruined!”

Gerard spat on the trembling wolf in front of him.

“I knew I should have given this barn to your brother to manage. Hell, the whole operation! This is what I get for listening to all your mother’s squawking about equity!”

“Daddy, it’s not that bad. No one has to know. And all my milking technicians are loyal...”

Kate was clearly neck deep in shit but the idea of losing of her favorite fucktoy was almost unbearable.

“I’ll take Derek on myself. I’ll separate hi… er.. its milk out.”

She had been in charge of Derek since he was an adolescent calf. He’d been her most successful show stud for a time. A real blue ribbon winner. But then when she’d first learned the truth of this dairy-were’s biology, it was like this Hale male had been made by the gods for her and her preferred sorts of sadism.

“Derek?” Gerard was incredulous, his face apoplectic.”You’re still calling it by its calf name and not its number? You’re as bad as your brother...

“These aren’t pets, Kate! These are profits!”

Gerard directed her attention to his phone once more. “And look at this…” He pointed to Derek’s harvest stats while Kate tried to stop fidgeting under his furious gaze. “I came looking to see why 1187’s production had dropped so low. Not that it matters now!” 

“You know FDA regs say dairy-weres aren’t to be left on mechanical stimulators for more than 12 hours at a time to avoid them building up object immunity. How long has it been in this stall? And don’t lie to me. I’ll ask the technicians to verify.”

“Three months…” She offered weakly.

She didn’t dare tell her father she’d also used company funds to purchase Derek’s expensive anal stimulator, whose hollowed dildo was specifically designed to deal with his waste; so he wasn’t even being detached for regular cleaning maintenance. In fact, the only times the Hale bitch had been off the stimulator’s knotted rod in these last months, was when she had him stuck on her own.

“Three months?!”

Both Kate and Derek flinched when Gerard reached over and rattled the feeding tube connected to the wolf’s dildoed gag. Kate nodded and Derek choked as the movement of the tube pumped a glut of nutritive sludge into his throat.

“You’ve kept a prime milking stall out of commission for _three months?_ For this bitch?”

This was Gerard’s primary concern, not the amount of time Derek had spent on his knees, impaled at both ends.  “Do you have any idea how many quality milkers you could have processed? You’ve wasted prime production real estate on a worthless male cunt!

“And here I have been planning to sell off plenty of decent, upcoming milkers because K barn’s at capacity.”

Gerard stalled in his rant when the timer on the stimulator clicked on. With a liquid noise, it filled Derek’s ass with slick and started its warm up, slowly fucking him open again. The suction sheath on his fat limp udder hummed to life in tandem, pulling a pained whine from him.

Gerard stepped into the stall and flipped a switch and the suction milker fell quiet. The knotted rubber cock stopped pumping and withdrew from Derek’s ass with a ‘slurp’. The moment it pulled loose, the dairy-were collapsed to the floor of the stall, choking on sobs of relief around his gag. Gerard stared down on Derek with disgust.

“I’m taking over care of 1187 for the next three days and then it's being marked ‘defective’ and going into our auction.”

Kate cut off her protests when she saw her father’s face brokered no argument. She hated having to relinquish her living toy, but she knew she’d fucked up royally and she wasn’t about to lose her stake in the family business over an animal, no matter how much she loved fucking with it.

Well, at least temporarily anyway. Her wicked mind was already scheming possible ways to use the upcoming sale to her advantage, maintain both her place in the company and keep Derek bound to her.

* * *

Gerard stared down at the pitiful bitch male dairy-were kneeling in the straw below him. Around its neck was a thick leather shock collar lined with tiny bane-dipped barbs. The collar’s D ring attached to a four-foot, forty-pound chain, its base sunk deep in the concrete below the straw.

This might have been a bit of overkill, considering even after three days off the stimulator and the gag, the newly discovered bitch-stud was still pretty weak.

Despite its deceiving, well-muscled appearance it also wasn’t too interested in moving. It had been pent up already as a result of its developed object-immunity when Gerard had found it and, with three additional days without being successfully milked, it’s balls looked like they were about to burst.

Even so, Gerard wasn’t going to take any chances. Not when he was giving #666, their farm’s best milking stud, the rare treat of a bench-free breeding.

The bitch at his feet gave a tentative nudge to one of his knees, followed by a soft uncomfortable whimper. Gerard stepped away when he realized it was mouthing at the leg of his pants.

In his experience, as beasts, overall, werewolves were just naturally remarkably orally fixated. He had no doubt, given that basic dairy-were training that capitalized on this trait, the faux-stud was begging for the “treat” of his cock.  But while Gerard didn’t care how his staff carried on with their stocks' propensity for sucking, he’d never privileged an animal with his dick and he wasn’t about to start now.

He ignored the wolf’s baleful green eyes, his attention drawn by the slam of a body against the grating behind him. He turned and stared at #666, the Hale dairy-were his son Chris stubbornly continued to call “Peter,” ignoring the fact it was decades past calfhood.

“Yes,” Argent sighed, looking at 666. “My son, at least, is dutiful…” Christopher managed C-barn admirably. Gerard shifted his gaze to the kneeling were at his feet. “Too bad he tends to be a bit of a bleeding heart when it comes to animal ‘welfare’ issues.”

“Guess it’s fortunate for you, stud,” Gerard turned again to Peter, “Your master is too busy organizing the auction to witness this particular breeding.”

In fact, no one else was present in the studding shed this early morning but Gerard and the two weres. Which was fine with him, since the fewer who knew of Kate’s transgression and his remedy, the better.

Peter’s body collided with the pen door again. Gerard stood unmoved regarding him and chuckled, “Can’t wait to free-breed, boy? Yeah, I don’t blame you.”

“You can smell slut on that stud, Triple Six, I know. Don’t like your new bitch cozying up to me, do you?”

Peter growled behind the muzzle he wore. His eyes flashed gold in his fury to get at the bitch male milker. He pawed the steel mesh with his mitten encased hands.

“Always such an eager thing. Well, I won’t keep you waiting anymore.”

Gerard stepped out of the enclosure and locked Derek in. Then he activated the switch raising the gate between the two male milkers’ pens. The moment there was no more mesh between them, Peter darted in. Smelling “bitchness” he grabbed Derek, hurled him to the ground, and climbed on top of him, all in an instant.

Derek yelped in pain when he was tackled, his muscled body’s making hard impact with the straw-covered concrete, his overstrained ball sac roughly jostled. Flailing his limbs, he scrambled to get out from under Peter.

But the older wolf was stronger.

It didn’t matter to the stud that they were actually related; Peter, being Derek’s uncle in terms of human relationships. All that mattered to  was that he smelled a needy bitch that needed to be bred.

Watching them, Gerard too, wasn’t thinking at all about the two males’ blood bonds. No, he was more concerned with making sure Peter fucked Derek’s bitch balls empty. It had been clear to him that with Derek’s stats and Kate’s confession the wolf had developed a significant degree of “object immunity” and would only release when fucked by 'natural' means now. 

Seeing the way his prize-winning stud was so intent on tearing up Derek’s ass, Gerard hoped 666 could purge the bitch’s balls without doing too much damage in the process. Or, at least, nothing that would take longer than the few hours they had for 1187 to heal before the auction barn opened for the stock preview.

Peter pushed Derek’s head down by his neck, scruffing him as much as possible with one mittened hand. With his other, he slapped the male bitch’s ass repeatedly. The smack of the leather mitt echoed loudly in the shed’s open interior.

Face pressed into the straw, Derek’s howls were muffled. He lifted his backside trying to dodge the sting of the stud’s brutal spanking. Head down, ass up high on his knees as he struggled, this put him into the perfect position and Peter wasted no time in taking advantage. The stud plunged the fat mushroom head of his cock into the bitch wolf’s asshole.

Derek’s whole body stiffened when the blunt head pushed into his re-tightened cunt. He cried out in pain as Peter, once he felt the breach, immediately forced the rest of his cock in. Hard.

Seeking for anything to hold onto as he was furiously fucked, Derek’s unmittened fingers grabbed huge clumps of straw and twisted them. Meanwhile, Gerard watched the machine-gun fire of #666’s hips dispassionately while the stud punched his foot-long udder deep into the bitch’s bowels.

Peter was relentless.

The shed rang with Derek’s pain-filled bawls as his hole was pummeled by stud dick and his tortured sac slapped repeatedly by Peter’s own heavy, swinging balls. Not for the first time Gerard was glad he’d had the foresight to make the studding shed soundproof.

With how closely Peter’s hips hugged Derek’s plump, bright, spanked-red ass as he pounded it, Gerard couldn’t tell if the bitch was bleeding or not. He hadn’t added any lubrication to Derek’s hole: the more friction the male bitch milker got, the sooner its sac would empty.

As a bitch, it should have been able to make some of its own slick anyways, although, living on the self-slicking dildo as it had sometimes impaired this ability. Not that this mattered much to Gerard. Even if 1187 did bleed, this was one of the things that should be healed up enough again in time for the auction.

Without a milking sleeve to catch the fluid that immediately began leaking from Derek’s fat udder as he was fucked, the air was soon heavy with the scent of wet straw and sweet cock-milk.

The odor of another’s male’s spend, even though it was a bitch’s, only further incited Peter’s feral behaviors. He wrapped his arms, around Derek, under his armpits, and hauled him up on his knees as he snapped his cock into him from behind.

Derek’s cries had softened, but he still sobbed on every thrust. His aroused udder sobbed in unison, bouncing hard as it pointed up, spurting milk each time the stud’s cock battered into him.

His mouth gasping open, Derek’s head fell back onto one of Peter’s broad shoulders with a soundless scream. As the stud slowed and the knot blossomed inside him, Derek’s udder visibly pulsed and shot like a geyser. The contents of his backed up ballsac jetted high enough to paint his fat pecs and even catch the bottom of his jaw.

Once his knot caught, Peter pushed Derek down on his belly in the straw and lay on top of him, growling. His hips continued to thrust, though much more languidly. The bitch offered no fight at all, simply laid still and panting under him.

Gerard looked at his watch. It usually took Peter about 15 minutes for his knot to ease. Considering this, they had room for at least five more knottings and this would still leave enough healing time before early sales opened.

Like the true stud he was, Peter didn’t pull out once his knot deflated but immediately hardened again and resumed his frantic fucking with no resistance from the dominated milker beneath him.

It made no difference to the stud that both being male, he couldn’t really impregnate Derek.

Though, even if Peter could have, with their superior genetics there were no incest affected births between werewolf blood relatives. (In fact, while he wasn’t Derek’s sire, Peter had fucked over half a dozen calves into his own sister, Hale bitch #667, Derek’s mother.)

"Looks like you found a true slut, huh, Triple 6? Can’t even leave its pussy alone for a minute.”

Gerard’s expression was pleased: 666’s fervor was going to further expedite things. If the stud kept this up, it would soon have 1187 completely dealt with and he’d have it in its preview stall in time to be able to still go back to the main house and enjoy a leisurely breakfast before the auction barn opened to the buyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	2. Cheesecake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is filler, but hopefully satisfying still. At least it may appeal to those who enjoy world building.
> 
> Another thing: this world isn't exclusively gay. So, if you're like me, this might take some getting used to.

Stiles hopped out of Roscoe and walked around to where Allison had parked. The normally empty field in front of her family’s dairy was filled with other vehicles, many sporting livestock trailers.

“Ugh… Country air!” he exclaimed, sniffing loudly as Scott and Allison emerged from her car. “Remind me again why I agreed to join you here?”

Scott slid his arm around Allison, gave her a squeeze, and grinned. “You’re here because you wanted to show support to Allison while she has to make an appearance at an event she’s morally opposed to.”

Allison tossed her dark hair and called back over her shoulder, “and because you didn’t want to spend half your day with Lydia, hanging around the Kanima groomers while they washed and clipped Jackson.”

“Yeah, that second one...” Stiles mumbled stuffing his hands into his pockets, ambling along behind the couple. “I swear, I wish Lydia showed me half the affection she gives that stupid pet of hers.”

“If you were as unconditionally worshipful…”

“I am!” Stiles huffed, indignantly cutting Allison off.

“ _ Unconditional  _ being the operative word…” Scott added on his girlfriend’s behalf, giving Allison’s cheek a sweet peck, loosing his arm and dropping it to take her hand, as if by these his lovey-dovey examples he modeled his meaning.

“I could be ‘unconditional’ if my girlfriend let me ‘worship’ her like yours does!” 

Allison giggled at this and Scott grinned wider. Stiles sighed and followed them into the barn.

Inside, the auction was in full swing with a line of dairy-weres being shuffled one by one onto a stage at the barn’s far end. Of the barn’s hundred stalls, about sixty remained full. Forty stalls were already empty, the calves that occupied them sold off first, and quickly, given the Hale reputation for quality.

Having never been to the farm before Stiles was impressed by the size of the Argents’ operation. Illuminated by the fluorescents overhead and the daylight filtering in through all the open windows, the space was bright, airy, and hardly smelled of animals at all.

“Ugh… I hate this so much.” Allison face scrunched in disgust as she took in the scene.

“Why?”

The crowds milling around looked far more refined than the coarse farmers Stiles had imagined. And the robust-looking, mature werewolves they passed in the stalls, many being examined by potential buyers, appeared, if not happy, then at least placid. 

He was about to say as much but the appalled look on Allison’s face at his question, and Scott’s by default, stopped him.

“These are remarkably sentient, humanoid creatures, Stiles!” Allison hissed, clearly upset but watching her volume since so many of the buyers knew her. “We shouldn’t be treating them like this. It’s practically slavery!” 

“Oh… right…” 

Stiles still didn’t get it, really,  there were all sorts of human-ish supernaturals that served humans for pets and other purposes but he trailed off, his attention distracted by an open stall door and the sight inside it. 

A pretty, red-headed were-bitch who looked about their same age in human years knelt naked on the floor, her full lips wrapped around a potential buyer’s cock.

“Look at that! Is that a thing? I mean, is that?... He was amazed by the other buyers standing outside the stall amicably chatting. No one was batting an eye at all. “What he’s doing… What she’s doing… That’s okay?!” 

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Allison gazed on the beastly blow job, her expression one of furious pity. “They’re trained to do that once they hit breeding age to bind them to their handlers. It plays into their pack hierarchy instincts, supposedly, and,” Allison added air quotes, “makes them much more submissive and docile.”

Only half-listening, Stiles eyes remained fixed on the red-head. Given the view he presently had, slavery or not, as a horny teenager, having a dairy-were certainly seemed to have its advantages. And with the enthusiasm the female werewolf exhibited, it certainly didn’t seem like she minded. 

“Do they uh… do more than  _ that _ to bond?”

Allison looked horrified at the idea. “Gross, Stiles. No. That would be like having sex with an animal.” She blushed then. “I mean, some do. But no person of quality would… Ever.”

“Oh… Uh. Right… Of course.” 

Despite his words Stiles didn’t really see the difference between fucking a dairy-were’s mouth or its pussy. And it was perplexing, Allison’s response, given she’d been espousing these creature’s ‘humanoid sentience’ moments earlier. But then this was all new to him, so he let it drop.

Besides, if he got into a debate he would have had to stop looking and focus.

Stiles adjusted his stiff cock in his jeans. This was so much better than the porn he fapped to. This was “sex” in real time and right in front of him. He watched the man ejaculate into the wolf’s mouth. The ginger bitch swallowed it down eagerly and then went to work cleaning her potential buyer’s deflating member. At least, until the man’s female associate distracted the dairy-were by stepping up to her and lifting her skirt. 

The woman wore nothing beneath and seeing the dairy-were bitch lean immediately forward, tongue out in anticipation of what was a beautifully manicured pussy, Stiles had to turn away before he nutted himself right there.

Once the blood fled his cock and his brain came back online he saw Allison and Scott had left him. It took him some time to find them again with the crowds. When he finally caught sight of them, Scott and Allison were at the far end of the barn in the farthest row from the auction stage. 

Scott had his arms around Allison and she was crying.

“Look guys, I know I spaced out there for a sec, I’m sorry. But cut me some slack! I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Stiles words outpaced him by at least five feet until he drew up next to them He didn’t add that while morally dubious what he’d seen had also been incredibly hot. 

Instead, he did his best to show Allison that Scott wasn’t entirely an idiot in his taste in best friends.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, Allison.”

Allison looked up from where she’d had her face buried in Scott’s shoulder. Her dark eyes were glossy and red-rimmed. “Yeah, you’re a horny prick, Stiles. But that’s not why I’m crying. It’s Cora... “ she offered, as though that explained everything.

Scott nodded over to one of the stalls. “Cora was one of Allison’s favorite calves, they practically grew up together. And now she’s here in the dregs…”

“The dregs?”

Allison sighed and walked over to one of the stalls. She picked up the clipboard that hung from its grated metal door. “That’s what we call these last stalls, Stiles. This is where all the defective werewolves are housed before they’re sold. Most of these won’t be going to another dairy… They’ll be going to way worse places than that.”

“Like what?” Stiles stepped up to the stall door. In the far corner of the stall was a remarkably pretty bitch, naked as they all were, with long, straight light brown hair, bee-stung lips, and large, dark eyes.

“Sometimes they get sold as vampire feed,” Allison spoke softly. “Zoophilia brothels sometimes too. Or there are these guys, they call them ‘knackers’, who make modified high-end ‘pets’ from dregged werewolves. They cut them up, amputate limbs, add things… It’s horrible.

“Daddy tries to screen them out of these sales, but he doesn’t always catch all of them.”

Cora seemed to recognize Allison because the fierce pout the dairy-were wore softened. After a few long moments, she slunk across the floor towards them with a feline grace. Once she got there, Cora nuzzled at the door of her stall in an attempt to get Allison to pet her.

“What’s wrong with her? I mean, why is she here?” Stiles almost choked on his tongue when Allison extended her fingers through the grating and Cora licked them softly. Then the dairy-were wrapped her plush lips around them, suckling.“She looks pretty healthy to me.” 

This was true. Cora’s hair shone, her body was flawless. Her breasts were full, nipples large and puffy, and obviously working too, as her torso glistened with leaked milk.

Allison passed over the clipboard with her free hand. “She’s been bred through three heats, the last two with Dad’s star stud, Peter, and she’s never caught. They’re saying she’s sterile.” 

Her now freed hand reached through the stall’s grating to pet Cora’s glossy head. “Her milk will never meet standards if she doesn’t calf. Calving is what makes were-bitch milk rich.”

Watching Allison and Cora’s interactions probably had Stiles wondering if the two had ever “bonded” despite Allison’s declared abhorrence for it. Though dickish, the thought of his best friend’s girl and the dairy-were engaged like that made his cock start to plump again. 

He was saved from a full on chub when Chris Argent’s voice rang out, breaking up the little reunion.

“Allison.”

Her father approached, the expression on his face troubled.

“How did I know to look for you here?” 

Chris sighed. “Honey, we’ve talked about you staying away from the dregs. Especially when all it does is make you upset.”

“Daddy, Cora…” Allison mournfully pulled her hands out of the stall, wincing at Cora’s sad whine.

“I know, Alli, I’m sorry. But you know this is how things work.” Chris stepped up and gave his daughter a side hug. “But look, if it makes you feel any better, I placed a few calls. To good people who might have a humane use for her. I’m hoping a few of these may bid on her.”

It wasn’t a great resolution, but Allison’s face brightened a little.

“There’s my girl.” Chris added a squeeze before turning his attention to Scott and Stiles. “Hey fellas, good to see you. Hope you don’t mind, Scott, if I borrow my daughter for a bit. Her grandfather’s been asking after her.”

Even if she wasn’t happy about it, Allison was every bit as dutiful as her father. She let herself be led off. As soon as she was out of view, Cora sniffed disdainfully at Stiles and Scott and retreated back to her corner.

After a few moments of silence Scott looked at Stiles. The expression on his face was determined. 

“I’m gonna buy her.”

“What?” Stiles stared at Scott, his best friend had clearly lost his mind. 

“Cora. I’m gonna buy her for Allison.” Scott’s face was lit with even more puppyish excitement than usual. 

“She was so sad, Stiles. And she’d already told me her family will never let her have a dairy-were as a pet. But I can! I’ve been saving my pay from Deaton’s.”

“Yeah, Scott. For College!” Seeing Scott wasn’t listening, Stiles shook his head, “You know, it’s usually my job to be the instigator of stupid ideas… But this is dumb on so many levels. Besides, aren’t there, like, rules about keeping livestock in residential areas?”

“No, Stiles. It’s perfect. Deaton told me he’s been getting all these new dairy-were clients since the town changed its zoning laws last year. City council caved on the restrictions because these days everyone’s pushing for home-pulled organics.” 

“I can keep Cora, no problem.” Scott expression was so certain it was almost comical. “Allison loves her, and I’ll save her.”

“And maybe, if you’re lucky, Allison will let you watch her and Cora bond,” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows suggestively but his voice was sarcastic. 

“Shut up, asshole! That’s my girl you’re talking about.”

“Ow!” 

Stiles rubbed his shoulder where Scott punched him. The color on Scott’s cheeks and his flaming ears indicated his comment hadn’t been made without merit. However, Stiles didn’t say this, instead, he kept quiet and continued to massage his sore arm.

Scott shook his dark head. “You just don’t know what’s it like, man. I want to be Allison’s hero. 

“I’m doing this.” He began to scan the barn until his eyes fell on the registration table. “I’m gonna go get a paddle so I can bid.”

Stiles let him go without comment, knowing in a few minutes Scott would cool down and everything would be good again. That was just how Scotty rolled. Then maybe he could talk him out of this crazy idea.

But for now… Looking for a distraction until said cooling commenced, Stiles’ eyes fell on a crowd of men gathered around the last stall in the dregs’ row. There was lots of laughing and back slapping going on and it made him curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	3. Bitter Whey

As he neared the group of guys, Stiles noted they shared the kind of coarseness he’d first imagined for this sort of auction’s clients: stained jeans and plaid, rough unshaven faces, their words and manner belying an innate brutality.

A middle-aged guy with a gut like a barrel was talking loudly with a tall lanky man in a 'Hooters' ballcap and a dirty jean jacket. “So Simon is getting the bid?”

“Yeah, didn’t Argent call you?”

“She did, but she didn’t say who her ringer was going to be. Do you know what she offered him?”

Both barrel gut and ballcap, along with the five other guys standing around them spoke without ever taking their eyes off of whatever was going on inside the stall.

“Yeah, five times the price, plus a five grand commission if it sells below 2500."

"Simon said he was disappointed she didn’t want him making any modifications after he bought it. You know Simon and his ‘science.’ But when she’s not using it, he at least gets to rent it out with the rest of his stock. A well broke werewolf slut like this, that’ll take whatever you give it, and be grateful for it..."

“It’s gonna have customers lined up around the block for a piece of that action.”

“Damn Simon. That guy and his luck. Well, at least we can duck in and have a go before that happens, eh?”

“Yeah, looks like Bill and Marv just finished.”

“Hey, man. Get your fingers out of that ass and give another fella a chance!” The guy in the Hooters cap shouted, pushing his way into the stall.

“Yeah, Bill.” Barrel gut hollered after. “You’re just wasting time playing now. Always so damn greedy!”

Drawing up closer to slip into the space vacated by the two men, Stiles's ears registered familiar porn track sounds: grunts and spanks, gagging and slapping flesh. There was clearly more than just some oral action going on here.

It had been hot watching Cora and the redhead earlier. Though dubious, both had seemed into it. But this bunch of roughnecks having their way with some poor were-cow whose life was already headed to a miserable fate, didn’t sit well with him.

Eyes darting around this part of the barn, Stiles looked for one of the many Argent handlers Allison had pointed out to him earlier, whose job it was to make sure none of the potential buyers got too carried away exploring their stock before purchase. Here in the dregs, however, there was definitely no security present.

Slipping in further to get a look into the open stall door, the men’s voices swirled around him, their laughter as crude as their comments.

“Look at that stupid thing. Such a goddamn whore.”

“Seems like it’ll do anything to get bought! Wonder what Argent did to it to make it so eager?”

“Wants to bond with every cock within reach. Greedy bitch.”

It took a little work but Stiles managed to push his way to the front. His eyes popped wide at the sight that met him. The damsel-ish creature in distress he’d expected to encounter wasn’t a female werewolf at all.

It was a male that had garnered all this attention.

Looking considerably older and about ten times more buff than Stiles, the dairy-were stud had a collar on that was chained to the ground, the length of this making it impossible for him to stand up straight.

“Look at that fucking udder. Fat and flat,” one of the fellows standing next to Stiles snorted. “No wonder they dregged him. Looks like he’s 'dick-broke' to me.”

“His sack is just as empty… No seed-milk there. Shame, given the size of it,” another added.

Stiles’s face flushed scarlet when his eyes dropped and he saw the stud’s cock. Flaccid it had to be at least ten inches. But that wasn’t the thing that really set his cheeks burning.

“Well, his ass still works! That for hella sure!” was the gleeful reply shouted back from inside the stall.

The guys inside, gathered around the wolf had used his short tether to their full advantage. They had him up on his feet and bent over. At the dairy-were’s front end, a short, chubby, greasy-looking guy jackrabbited his cock into a drooling mouth. While on each side of the wolf, each of the milker's hands held a dick.

The men attached to said dicks were berating the poor dairy-were in between hocking loogeys and spitting chewing tobacco onto the stud’s spit-stained skin.

“Pick up the pace, you dumb fuck! Or I’m gonna let Randall here buy you. He’ll make you eat his dirty ass out at least three times a day before dinner. You wouldn’t like that would you?”

“Shut up, Steve! And you, where the hell did you learn to pull cock, bitch? Fucking wolf hasn’t got any rhythm!”

Stiles was stunned into stillness. There was no pleasure to be found at all in this real life 'porno', it was awful: the sight of the poor wolf who was clearly trying to please his abusers.

The dairy-were’s body shone with sweat as he struggled to keep up with every demand of the men around him. But sweat and spit weren’t the only things glistening on the wolf's pale skin. The whole stall smelled of piss and Stiles saw amber drops shaken free from the stud’s soaked bangs as the man fucking his mouth jerked his head back and forth, using his ears as handles.

Meanwhile, behind the naked, bent over stock, a fellow with his overalls down around his knees had just finished raping the werewolf’s ass. His purpled cock held tight in his fist, he painted the dairy-were’s sleek round buttcheeks with his cum. Given the amount of sperm dripping down the stud’s spanked-pink backside and trembling thighs, it was obvious this guy wasn’t the first.

Overall guy’s cock had barely stopped spitting when the fellow in the Hooters ballcap pushed him out of the way, stepped up behind the wolf, and shoved his cock into his ass without any preamble.

“Like I said, goddamn greedy, you guys. Lemme get a fuck in before they come get ‘im for the block.”

“Relax man, you know dregs go last. We’ve got plenty ‘o time yet,”

Hooters ignored his unseen advisor and grabbed the stud’s narrow hips. He slammed into the battered hole before him, driving the dairy-were’s cum-frothed mouth forward onto the penis it held. Hooters must have been big because his entry set the werewolf bleating. Cum spilled out of the mouth around the cock in it as the were cried, adding to the mess already dangling from his chin.

The dick between his lips was pulled out and a new one immediately shoved in. The werewolf choked, but not just because of the fresh flesh filling his throat. Yellow-orange fluid dripped from the milk-stud’s chin too now, as the man who had his fingers twisted into his wet bangs, rather than fuck, had started pissing.

When Stiles realized this was what the man was doing, he turned more than a little green. This was all so wrong.

Immobilized with shock at first by the scene, Stiles found he could finally move once again. He pushed his way into the stall, erupting in a flurry of flailing limbs.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE? STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!”

His voice was far higher than he’d intended but it still accomplished his aim. All the guys in the stall stilled and stared at him. Barrel belly was the first to recover.

“What the fuck, kid? We’re just having a little fun. Or are you jealous? You want to join in?”

“No, I don’t wanna ‘join in’!” Stiles grimaced realizing he was making Allison’s ridiculous air quotes and dropped his hands.

“This is sick what you guys are doing... bestiality… animal abuse, at the very least. Aren’t there laws against this?”

A brown-haired fellow in bad need of a haircut pushed off from where he’d been leaning against the stall’s back wall watching the were-bang. “This shit is standard here in the dregs, son. Other places out in the world too, though you’re clearly too green to know it, apparently.”

If it was possible, the guy looked a little meaner than the rest of the crew in the stall. The heavy bags under his eyes, the moles at the corner of his left lip and the one on his chin all added to his sinister appearance. He wore a blue cotton shirt common to the style of servicemen. Above the right breast pocket was a darker blue patch embroidered with the name ‘Simon’ on it in white thread.

“So I suggest you get the fuck out. Or join in. One way or another.”

There was no mistaking the threat in the man’s words and the other fellows around him drew themselves up and puffed, responding to his energy.

“So this is common?” Stiles’ voice was stretched thin but at least it didn’t quiver.

“Sure it is.” Simon’s grin was feral. “Just, you know, working our way down the row here. It’s sort of tradition.”

Initially, Stiles just wanted them to stop what they were doing, but thinking about Cora further down the aisle, now he wanted all these guys gone.

“Well, dang… This is my first auction, so I guess I’ll have to take your word on that.” He flashed a dumb kid grin and pretended Simon had convinced him. When the asshole gave him a pleased nod, Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Or… I’ve got Chris Argent on speed dial here. Maybe I should give him a call. Ask him about it? Cause he didn’t say anything about this when he was showing me around earlier.”

At the mention of Chris’ name, several of the guys immediately deflated. A few of the fellows lingering outside the door of the stall watching all the commotion seemed to suddenly remember other places they needed to be and wandered away.

Simon stared hard at Stiles, trying to ascertain if he was bluffing. He was pretty much, but Stiles hit Allison’s number and hoped for the best.

“Hey Allison, is your dad there? Well, could you do me a favor? I’m still over at the dregs. Would you have him come and meet me… There’s something I want to show him. It’s kind of an emergency. Two minutes… Great. I’m in the last stall on the left.”

Stiles pulled his phone away from his ear and pushed a button. “By the way, I’m videotaping now.”

While he’d been talking, in front of him, the dairy-were collapsed to his knees as all his fuckers pulled out grumbling and tucked themselves away. The rest of the crowd outside the stall had evaporated.

Simon held his hands up in a gesture of unhappy surrender. “Easy there sport, nothing to get so riled up about. You want this stud to yourself, you got it. For now...”

The man sucked and spit some tobacco into the straw while the other men filed out. The whole time Stiles held his phone out like a drawn weapon, his hands surprisingly steady.

The last to leave, Simon stopped beside Stiles and stepped into his personal space. “You might feel like a hero at the moment, but I gotta tell you, you put a halt to the boys fun for no good reason. What they were doing to this broke ‘ol stud here ain’t no different than what’s gonna happen to it once it’s sold.

“Ain’t that right, Derek...”

At the name he called out the wolf shuddered and wrapped its arms around its piss soaked head.

Simon rolled his eyes and sneered in the direction of the dairy-were. “Derek” curled up behind him in as small of a ball as his muscled form allowed.

“Any one of those boys might have bought you, if you were nice enough to ‘em, Der-ek. Too bad this twink who looks like he ain't got two pennies to rub together blew it for ya. Now you’re not gonna have the chance to show the men with the real money what good stock you are.

“And you know what happens to wolves that don’t sell don’t you, stud. They’ll send you to a vamp camp as bleeder feed.”

Stiles watched the dairy-were shiver harder with every word that fell from Simon’s mouth.

“What the fuck, man? Shut up!”

“Hell, it doesn't understand half of what I just said. It’s just responding to my tone.” Simon smirked and stepped back. ”But you understand, don’t you, boy?”

He called out, “see you on the block, stud!” Then Simon gave Stiles a wink and ambled out of the stall.

“God, what a fucker,” Stiles muttered under his breath once Simon was gone. He looked over at the dairy-were huddled in the straw and sighed. The stud didn’t look too good, but how could he, after what he’d just been through.

“Shit. Now what?” Stiles had never been an animal person. Growing up he’d never even had as much as a faery for a pet.

“Hey…uh... Derek… That your name?”

Stiles frowned when the wolf glanced up at him. Derek’s wide green eyes were filled with tears but the rest of the wolf’s expression, the way he scowled it, looked more like he was mad.

About to take a step forward, Stiles thought the better of it and hunkered down to a squat instead. “You have a lot to be pissed about right now, big guy, but I shouldn’t be part of that. I was trying to help you.”

Remembering what Simon said about the were comprehending words and tone, he simplified and softened his own. “I’m nice… Okay? Not gonna hurt you.”

Snuffling back his snot, Derek stared at him a moment like he was trying to figure something out. His expression didn’t shift but after a couple uncomfortable minutes he uncurled himself and crawled forward.

Stiles stayed still where he squatted, watching, wondering if maybe the big guy wanted a pat or something. The dairy-were sure looked like he could use some comfort despite his scowl, not that he wanted to touch him, as filthy as he was.

His eyes went wide when Derek set himself on his knees in front of him and opened his mouth. The wolf stuck his tongue out and Stiles saw the inside of Derek’s piss-rank maw was still milky with cum.

He was more than a little stunned when he realized that even after what he’d just been through the dairy-were was offering himself for bonding.

“Eh… Yeah… Thanks but no thanks. No need for that, buddy. Okay? Not really my style. Or my preferred flavor. You know?”

While his eyes were baleful at the turn down, it was funny how stern the wolf looked when he closed his mouth at this and frowned. Then he shuffled around on his knees.

“Oh, shit…” Stiles breathed when Derek dropped his chest to the straw, reached back and pulled his round cheeks apart, offering his ass since his mouth had been rejected.

Derek’s well-muscled butt was still bright red from what must have been some pretty fierce spanking. But his asshole had clearly taken the brunt of the punishment. His puffy pucker was dark, bruised-looking, and cum trickled thinly from the gape left from his last rape.

“Fuck… No… I don’t want that either.”

Not knowing quite what else to do, Stiles reached out and pried one of Derek’s hands and then the other off his ass. When the plump cheeks were released and jiggled back into place, the motion pulsed a bigger glob of cum out of the dairy-were’s asshole. The pink-tinged fluid slid down his taint and his huge, already cum-sticky ball sac.

“Ugh… that’s so gross.”

Staring back at him, his head still low to the ground Derek’s face was bright red but his expression was totally forlorn. Then suddenly the dairy-were made a low, frightened noise and dropped to his belly in the straw, flattening himself out completely.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Stiles turned towards the voice accompanied by the click of boot heels on concrete and was met by the vision of Allison’s Aunt, Katherine Argent.

The face of Argent’s Vitality Were-Milk for Men in her younger days, more than once when he’d lost his internet privileges he’d jerked off to her risque advertisements in his father’s 'hidden' stash of vintage nudie magazines.

About fifteen years older than those pictures here, Kate Argent still looked incredibly hot but the attitude she projected was that of a pissed cougar on steroids.

“Who are you, and where the fuck is Simon?”

Stiles had opened his mouth to talk, though he had no idea what words were going to follow. This happened kind of a lot with him. But then Chris Argent also showed up in the open stall door.

“Stiles? Kate? What’s going on? Allison said there was an emergency.”

“Some guys were doing some really nasty stuff to this big fella here. But I kind of scared them off.” Stiles couldn’t help but sound more than a little proud.

Chris took one look at Derek and frowned. “Holy hell.” He looked away, scanning the area around the dreg stalls and then turned to his sister. “Kate, where the fuck is stock security?”

“How should I know, Chris. I just got here myself.” Kate crossed her arm over her chest. “I've been busy with the auction.”

“You’re in charge of this area.”

“Yes. But not just this area. I have better stock to shepherd. I can’t waste my time hovering over the dregs. Nor can you expect me to be everywhere at every minute.”

Chris didn’t seem impressed with his sister’s answer at all. He kept his disapproving gaze fixed on her as he pulled out his phone.

Less than a minute later a handler appeared. Kate’s already aggravated expression grew fiercer as the technician unchained Derek and leashed him up, ushering the wolf out of the cell so he could be hosed off and checked over before his spot came up for the block.

Chris’s face was solemn watching Derek led away. He turned back to Stiles and his sister.

“Thank you, Stiles, for stepping in. Even if he’s not from my barn, no dairy-were deserves to be treated like that. Even a dregged one.

“I promise you, son, that’s not how Argent farms normally functions.” His eyes went to the clipboard hanging outside Derek’s stall. He picked it up and frowned at whatever he found there.

“Sad to see Derek ruined. He was a good calf. Aloof, but sweet. Wonder what happened? I always thought he’d be a good virile producer.”

Returning the info sheet to its place he shifted his gaze over to Kate. Chris’s tone dropped about fifty degrees in temperature.

“Kate, you and I have some things to discuss and I’d rather we did it in private.”

“I don’t have time for this shit, Christopher.”

“I think you do, _Katherine_.”

Kate rolled her eyes and her thick lashes fluttered. “Fuck it. Fine! Give me your lecture, brother, so I can get back to what really needs to be done here.”

Stiles watched the siblings walk away. Their body language stiff, within ten feet he already heard their low voices becoming increasingly heated.

Hot ads notwithstanding Kate Argent struck him as a cruel piece of work. He wondered if Derek had been under her care, how well the male milker had been treated. She certainly hadn’t seemed too interested in his welfare.

Out of curiosity he moved over and lifted the clipboard with Derek’s information from the door of his empty stall trying to see what Mr. Argent had.

The first thing he noticed was Derek’s age. At twenty-three in human years, the dairy-were was six years older than he. It made Stiles wonder what the lifespan of a typical dairy-were stud was. From what little he knew, with their genetic superiority he imagined out in the wild they’d be quite long-lived.

Scanning further down the line, he sought out Derek’s defects. The reasons for his dregging listed: Behavioral issues/discipline problems, genetic defect (semi-feral), impotent.

Stiles didn’t know what to think about the impotence issue, but the other reasons…

He glanced up and over to the open tiled shower set in the middle of the row of stalls where Derek was now being thoroughly hosed down by two handlers. The dairy-were was on his knees, torso upright, his hands clasped behind his head, his loose lead hung from his collared neck between his spread thighs.

The wolf’s eyes were closed, his expression pained, as the handlers scrubbed his skin pink and sprayed him with water so cold Stiles could see the goosebumps on him from where he stood. Watching the buff werewolf remain pliant in the midst of this rough handling, he had a hard time reconciling all Derek’s “behavioral issues” to what was listed on the clipboard.

* * *

“Stiles!”

Head popping up at the hail, Stiles set the clipboard back on its peg. Scott was back and beaming, Allison in tow.

Cora too.

Cora was dressed now in what looked like a black mesh sports bra and a matching one-piece skirt and panty combo. If one called could the short front and back flaps that barely covered anything a skirt.

“My mom said I could buy Cora!”

Of course, he was such a boyscout Scott would call his mom and ask permission. Stiles rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless: a happy Scott was always infectious.

“And I’d just gotten my paddle when I ran into Allison’s dad.”

Allison jumped in now, cutting her boyfriend off. “Can you believe it Stiles! So sweet! And when Daddy heard what he was gonna do, he pulled Cora from the auction…”

Scott’s voice dropped, “It’s really hush-hush, since it goes against farm policy. But he told me he’d sell her to me at the lowest base price so I wouldn’t have to bid!”

With this, Scott pushed his unneeded bidder’s paddle into Stiles’ stunned hands so he could accept Allison’s enthusiastic hug and kiss-filled tackle.

“God…” Allison laughed between peppering Scott with pecks, “how’d I get such an amazing boyfriend!”

Stiles glanced over, oddly pleased to see Cora’s face mirrored his own good-humored disgust at the couple’s giddy antics. As soon as Allison and Scott separated, the dairy-were pressed up close to Allison and nuzzled under her old playmate’s ear, making Allison’s already flushed cheeks pink further.

It reminded Stiles of Lydia and her annoying kanima and he was suddenly quite certain Scott had no idea of the competition he’d just purchased.

“So now that you know our happy news, Stiles. What was the emergency you need my dad for?”

“Oh… It turned out to be nothing really. Just a couple assholes heckling one of your werewolves. I managed to put a stop to it. Thanks for getting your dad though.”

“That happens at these things. That’s one of the reasons I hate them so much.”Allison brushed Cora’s long hair back with her fingers and tucked a bit behind her ear. “But at least you won’t have to go through any more of that, will you, Cora?”

“Oh… we have so much to do for you now!” Allison looked up at Scott. ”We need to go to Deaton’s for a well-check… Get food… We need to make a space for her at your house, Scott. Oh… and I bet daddy will let me have an old milker, so we can keep her comfortable…”

“Darn… We don’t have a trailer for her though… Oh, well. I guess we could try taking her in my car.” Allison turned back to Cora.

“Your first car ride! Are you gonna be a good girl for me, sweetheart?” For all her talk about respecting were’s human-ish qualities, she had already defaulted to a pet owner’s voice.

“Scott, I’m gonna take her out to the car and get her used to it right now. The sooner we can get her away from here the better.”

“Sure, babe.” Scott gave Stiles an apologetic smile. “You wanna come with us? Help us settle her in?”

“Nah, man.” Stiles shot him a wink. “I actually think I might hang around here for a bit. There’s still lots to see, you know.” His eyes darted over toward the auction block where the auctioneer had just squeezed the fat tit of the were-bitch currently on sale, sending a stream of milk shooting out at the bidders.

“Perv…” Scott teased, though he kept his voice low so Allison wasn’t as apt to hear.

“You know it.” Stiles gave his best friend a grin he wasn’t feeling. As soon as Scott was gone he turned his attention back to where Derek was still silently enduring his scrubbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Special thanks to everyone who commented.


	4. Up to no Gouda

A couple hours later found Stiles still at the auction. 

It was almost over now and most of the crowd had dissipated. He’d passed part of this time, thanks to his short teenage refractory, ‘bonding’ with a few dairy-were bitches. Mostly they were close to his own age but one was significantly more mature. 

The older one, Stile was loathe to admit, had looked both disturbingly and arousingly like Scott’s mom. 

He’d told himself he’d engaged in this “bonding” stuff as a cross sectional survey because… well, he’d found, ‘research’ always gave merit to sketchy activities. Plus, in their relationship Lydia had thus far refused even a good tongue kiss, let alone go down on him. And since weres weren't human, it didn't exactly constitute cheating.  


Unfortunately, he hadn’t enjoyed his experiment nearly as much as he’d hoped to. Mostly because even under the female dairy-weres’ remarkably eager seeming and able tongues, his mind kept drifting back to Derek.

Stiles had gleaned from his info sheet that Derek was in the last of the stock lots to be sold. So, before heading off, he decided he’d go take one last look at the stud. See how he’d fared since his clean up. 

Allison had commented more than once on dairy-weres’ amazing physical resilience, so Stiles reasoned that once he’d ascertained Derek had recovered enough, (physically, at least) his conscience would be salved to the extent he could leave the auction if not guilt-free, at least resolved.

Returning to the near-empty dregs, Stiles found Derek’s old soiled stall vacant. He didn’t see the stud in the dregged stock lining up for the block either, and this gave something in his gut an uncomfortable twist. So, he started prowling the rows of empty stalls and stopped when he heard Kate Argent’s voice.

“Everything’s set. You shouldn’t have much competition by the time he’s up on the block. Let the price drop down to a few hundred and then you bid. It shouldn’t go very high. You should be able to get him for next to nothing. 

“In case you do run into trouble though, I’ll be nearby to let you know how high to go...”

Straining to hear Kate’s voice as her volume lowered, Stiles realized he heard sex noises again: squelches and slaps and quiet grunting. A rough male voice that sounded unfortunately familiar answered back. “Yeah, Babe. I got it already… How many more times do you have to repeat this shit?”

“Don’t call me ‘babe’ asshole. This is a business transaction and I’m your boss. Get it? Now, will you hurry the fuck up? You’re going to have all the time in the world to rape his ass later when I’m not using him.”

Sneaking a look around the side of the stall, Stiles saw a bored looking Kate Argent leaning against one of the stall’s interior walls. She was studying her fingernails. Next to her, an uncomfortable looking female stock technician stood, holding a leather lead. 

On the end of the leash was Derek. 

Collared and not looking too much cleaner than the first time Stiles had encountered him, the stud was on his feet, but bent over and being fucked once again. This time by that asshole Simon. 

“Cut me some slack, Argent. That punk ass kid robbed me of my turn earlier. And I was horny as fuck,” Simon complained as he pummeled Derek, using the snap of his hips as punctuation. “I Swear… if I see that goddamn punk again…. I’m… gonna… Kick. His. Fucking. Ass... Cut! His! Balls! Off!”

The way Simon said this made Stiles’s nads try to scramble back up inside him. His every instinct urged him to leave before Simon or Kate, who was oddly even more terrifying, found him.

But from where he was peeking, Stiles could see the bruises on Derek’s hips under the grip of Simon’s fingers. The guy was pounding Derek’s ass so hard the poor dairy-were was clearly struggling to keep his footing. His lean muscular sides heaved and soft whines could be heard in each of his punched out breaths.

“Fuck yeah… that's some good bitch pussy there. All broke in. You know your place don’t you, cunt? Look at you, standing there taking this big ‘real’ stud dick so pretty. 

“We’re gonna get along great. I’m gonna make sure your dance card is always full. See that this slutty hole of yours is filled 24-7 again. Just like you’re used to.

“That’s right, Take it, you stupid were-bitch. Holy fuck... ”

When he finally came Simon grunted and groaned, his sounds more bestial than anything made by the Argent stock Stiles had encountered.

After he’d come, Simon pulled out of Derek in a way that made the dairy-were wince and choke on a sob. The man took a step back and tucked himself away. His chest puffed proudly. 

“What do you think?”

Kate moved around and spread Derek’s buttcheeks apart. 

From his hiding place, Stiles had a pretty good view. He didn’t know what Simon was going for, but the guy had a dick like a beer can and Derek’s ass showed this. His rim was puffed and purpled. His cum-leaking asshole fluttered like it wanted to close but its exhausted muscles just couldn’t.

“You call that wrecked? I thought you said you had a big dick. You schmuck… This will be almost tight again by the time he’s up on the block!” 

She let Derek’s cheeks go and stormed back around, snatching his lead from the handler.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything myself around here. Coordinate all you assholes… Hire a useless, small-dicked knacker to buy. Create a diversion to keep Daddy and Chris away from the end of the sale...” 

Kate gestured to Simon who was still clearly seething about her affront to his manhood.“Grab his cheeks and hold them apart.”

She flicked the loose end of Derek’s leash at the stock technician. “And you… Get around there and get your fist in his ass. I want that hole looking so sloppy no one will want him!” 

“But, Ms. Argent...”

“If you’d done your job and alerted me the moment my father came into K barn. Made any attempt to stall him so I could get there before he found Derek, we wouldn’t be in this mess, Sasha. 

“Now, Simon at least got it wet for you, so get your hand up that cunt before you find my boot up yours. 

“Got it?”

Stiles was about to plunge into the fray head first again and try to stop this, but a sound caught his ears and he looked up just in time to see more of Simon’s crew from before rounding the corner, headed towards him. 

Fortunately they hadn’t noticed him. Yet. But the odds weren’t looking very good right now. He’d no doubt more than a few of those guys shared Simon’s sentiments about having their ‘fun’ ruined. Half-praying under his breath, Stiles decided he had to make a break for it. 

He wasn’t going to be able to help Derek at all if his windpipe was being crushed under a boot. 

Ducking down he darted past the stall’s opening and away down the corridor.

Breathing hard, once he thought he was out of immediate danger, Stiles stopped and stretched out an arm, propping himself up against a wall. As soon as he had enough wind again he cursed Scott for ever convincing him to come to this stupid thing. 

Of course, he knew that if he really wanted to, he could walk away right now and no one but him would be any the wiser. But as he’d slipped by Derek’s stall the dairy-were had lifted his head and looked at him. Their gazes locked for just an instant and the expression in those wide, green eyes would haunt him forever if he didn’t do something. 

Stiles swore again and took out his phone to call Allison and see if she could track her father down for him once more. He hoped whatever “diversion” Kate had engineered to draw her brother away wasn’t something he couldn’t be pulled back from.

Five minutes later, he was saying goodbye to Chris. It hadn’t been easy to reach him, Kate had gone to great lengths to ensure that. Stiles was grateful, however, Allison’s dad promised to come as quickly as possible, though Mr. Argent didn’t understand fully, any more than he did, what all was really going on with Kate and this particular dairy-were. 

In the meantime, Chris’s advice had been to “hang loose” until he got there and “try to stay out of trouble,” which might have been doable for anyone else. But Stiles...

He’d just stuck his phone back in his pocket when he heard the PA system ring through the near-empty barn “Call to buyers, our final lot, the last ten stock, are on their way up. Bidding to begin in two minutes.”

“Shit,” Stiles breathed, running his hand through his spiky hair. If things went fast, Derek would already be sold off by the time Chris got there. He turned around, back to the wall, and slumped against it. He jumped forward again when something poked him in the ass. 

Reaching back behind him, Stiles pulled out the bidding paddle Scott had bequeathed to him earlier.

His forehead furrowed in thought. Then it smoothed out and he grinned. A moment later he dashed towards the auction-block.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter, today.
> 
> Also, for those of you dying to see Kate peg Derek, I didn't mean to rob you twice in this fic, but I thought 1. She wouldn't want an audience (I see her possession of Derek as a very private thing) 2. Kate would want to stay undisheveled for the auction, as one of its coordinators 3. And last she's weaponizing Derek's abuse to punish that staff person.
> 
> So there's that. I do, however, promise I will write some pegging stuff in the future for you.
> 
> Thanks for reading. My special gratitude to those of you commenting.


	5. Cheddar

Standing off to the side of the block Stiles couldn’t stop twitching. His body buzzed with tension and impatience. Derek, of course, was almost the last in line and while the final stocks' bidding went quickly, each sale seemed to take forever.

There were less than twenty buyers here at the end and none of the more refined types who’d populated the auction earlier. Of those left, a dozen were men Stiles had seen in and around Derek’s stall, ones who must have been there as Kate’s plants. 

With these men and the few women who remained, the air of the auction’s audience had shifted considerably. It had gotten louder. Coarser too. From the buyers, who’d been remarkably quiet previously, there now came shouts and whoops and degrading comments about the stock being sold and the prices they went for.

Stiles glanced over. An older bitch who looked to be in her 30’s was on the block. From the dreg sheet the auctioneer read from, she’d lost her last calf, but before this, her production had been faltering. Even so, there was interest and a healthy bidding war was being waged between a few buyers.

While this was occurring just beyond the edge of the stage, Derek stood, quiet, his head down. 

Though the final ten dairy-werewolves had all definitely lost their luster in one way or another, he stuck out from even these last few in terms of his dishevelment.

His skin glistened, still wet, clearly having been hosed down again. Though not thoroughly, as his body belied with its dapple of grime and fresh bruises. Pale flecks of straw were obvious in the tangle of his dark hair. His body language spoke of exhaustion.

Stiles wasn’t the only one who noticed his condition. The two weres behind the stud reacted to his sad energy. Visibly straining at their leads despite their handlers’ soothing, they tried to get as much distance from Derek as possible.

The gavel dropped, at last, the bitch sold. Stiles’s was oddly comforted when she was shuffled off into the ownership of two clean but worn-looking middle-aged women.

Derek kept his eyes on the ground as he mounted the few stairs to the auction platform. His footsteps were heavy and carried a noticeable limp. He had a new handler, male, who, when his feet seemed to be dragging, gave a sharp crack to his ass with the end of his leash to hurry him up.

“So this lot, number 1187.” The auctioneer’s eyebrows raised as Derek took his position on stage, hands clasped behind his back, feet set wide, head bowed. “I guess the saying ‘they save the best for last’ doesn’t always pan out now does it?”

The crowd laughed loudly in response to the comment and Stiles swore he saw the dairy-were’s shoulders slump just a little more.

“As you can see, looks like this big guy here has some management issues. Clearly, he gave his handlers some fuss. So he’s gonna need a firm hand to take him on.” 

The auctioneer chuckled, “but then some folks like a challenge. Looks like he’ll be a good one.”

Stiles thought the auctioneer’s assertion was the farthest thing from the truth, seeing how Derek acted without complaint as his handler put him roughly through his paces,  The stud obeyed every degrading direction given and didn’t even growl at any of the new reddening leash snaps that quickly blossomed on his skin.

“So this here is a Hale-were… How about we start the bidding at 5000. 00 That’s a steal...”

Derek’s head lifted just slightly and Stiles was somehow sure that from under those dark bang’s the stud was looking for raised hands.

“4000. 00 then?” The auctioneer dropped the bid. “He looks rough. But I’m sure with a little work he’ll clean up real nice!”

“Are you kidding?” Shouted someone in the crowd. “His stats say he’s dick broke!” 

“Not just a limp dick. Look at that flat sac of his!” This was Hooter’s ball cap back in action again. What good is an empty purse? Can’t buy nothing if there ain’t no coin in it!”

This set the crowd murmuring. Stiles watched a few buyers made uncomfortable by the change in the auction’s tenor begin to quietly leave. At this same time, Kate Argent stalked in and set herself up on the sidelines on the opposite side of the room from him.

The auctioneer also seemed to realize something was up with this crowd. His next offer was substantially lower.

“Two grand. Now that’s a great open, folks!” he cheered, trying to shift the crowd’s energy. “After all, his mouth still works. You can use him as a succor stud to keep your cows happy in between milkings!”

“Show the people that tongue, Hank.”

The handler smacked Derek behind his knees and the stud instantly dropped into a kneel. Derek didn’t fuss when hands grabbed his bangs and his jaw and forced his mouth open. He did gag a little though when thick fingers probed his mouth and pulled out his tongue.

“Damn, I know they’re a hearty species, but look how coated that licker is.” This was the contribution of beer-gut, overalls guy. “Hale or not, that’s not right. There’s no way I’d let a tongue looked like that near one of my heifers’ twats! 

There was a murmur of agreement among the buyers and an underlying grumble.

“That’s way low quality for Argents!”

“Opening at 1000.00 now… Any takers?”

It pissed Stiles off the way Kate grinned. 

He didn’t like what it did inside his chest either when Derek’s dark head dropped once it was released and he could see teardrops falling from beneath this bow. The stud remained silent though outside of a few quiet sniffles.

“500. 00? Do I hear five?”

While the auctioneer wheedled and the buyers complained, Derek’s handler was clearly saying things to the dairy-were that made his broad shoulders quiver. The guy was talking low, so Stiles moved closer to the podium, within earshot. 

“Nobody fucking wants you… Even those fellas kind enough to bond with you before. You must have done a shitty job pleasing them. Fucking useless.

“Better pick up the performance, or you’re gonna end bound up and bled out before nightfall.”

Stiles’s anger boiled hearing the handler’s words. Even if Derek couldn’t know what they meant, it was clear he more than understood his handlers disapproving tone.

“What about his other hole?” Someone shouted from among a tight group of men. It was hard to know who had said it. “Might be the only useful part of him.”

There were a couple shocked gasps from the crowd at this along with plenty of chuckles. 

“Present!” The handler, Hank, ordered. 

Though his tear-stained cheeks were red under his scruff, Derek immediately turned around on his knees. Without any further command, he pressed his chest to the stage and lifted his ass high in the air.

The dairy-were’s trembling fingers quickly pulled his bruised cheeks apart. The ravagement there made Stiles wince. The angry-looking, red rim of the stud’s asshole was puffed up fat as his little finger. It gaped open still from Kate’s ordered abuse. Twitching with Derek’s every breath, each time it tried to close, fluid dripped out.

“Look at that pussy!”

“You called that right, Earl. That hole’s spittin like an angry cat!”

Above the raucous laughter this provoked, Simon shouted, “Don’t know about useful. Used is more like!” He said this like he hadn’t had any part in this wreckage.

“Tell you what though! I’m gonna offer you 250 for ‘im, cause you still have two weres to go and I wanna get home before I’m 90.”

“Alright then! Opening at two-hundred and fifty dollars.” The auctioneer tapped his station, pleased to finally get this sale going.

“Anyone else?”

“Two fifty going once…

The stud remained where he was, his ruined ass on display, but he’d turned his head to look back at who’d bid. The look on Derek’s face when he saw it was Simon was so anguished Stiles thought he might puke.

“Two fifty going twice.”

“THREE HUNDRED!” Stiles yelled waving his paddle as though enough fury might make him fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter but the ones after this will be longer.
> 
> Thank you for reading and vials of Derek tears for my commenters.


	6. Things get Feta

“Gee, thanks again, Mr. Argent.

“No need to thank me Stiles. If anything, I should be the one thanking you…”

Stiles leaned against the wall of the wide open-air shower and watched Chris Argent wash Derek. It was quite the picture, Argent barefoot in his dress slacks, his nice workshirt open at the neck and sleeves rolled up past his elbows.

His big hands rubbed soapy lather over Derek’s soiled skin. His third bath of the day, this time Derek’s skin blushed under the heat of the water.

“That man should have never been approved to bid.”

Kneeling on the tiled floor Derek’s eyes were closed, his face was still frowny, but his body seemed to chase Argent’s gentle touch, pressing into it at every opportunity.

“He’s a known knacker. I don’t know how he slipped past our registrars.”

Chris’s hand softly scrubbed over plump pecs. When his hand brushed a dark nipple, the male milker shuddered and sighed.

“Poor guy. Had a hard day, huh, Derek?”

The diary-were slitted an eye at the mention of his name. He groaned softly when Chris began to run his fingers through his dark hair working the soap into it.

“Stiles, you should come help with this. Derek’s yours now, after all. He needs to start getting used to you as his handler.”

Awkwardly, Stiles pushed away from the wall and joined Chris, accepting a long-hosed hand sprayer. His mind was still trying to process all that had happened.

When he raised his paddle the first time he’d gotten such a thrill from Kate Argent’s apoplectic expression he kind of lost himself in the bidding war with Simon. It had climbed to 2500.00 by the time Chris finally showed up.

There was no doubt Allison’s dad was a badass. As soon as he’d seen what was going on and who Stiles’s competition was, he’d stalked over and wordlessly grabbed Simon’s paddle-wielding hand to keep him from bidding any higher.

The look on Simon’s face, and Kate’s, was priceless.

With the quiet rage Chris radiated no one else dared bid. As soon as the auctioneer yelled “sold,” two burly stock handlers joined Chris and physically escorted Simon out of the barn. By that time Kate had already disappeared from the sidelines.

Stiles gingerly laid a hand one of Derek’s soap-slick broad shoulders. The were’s skin twitched beneath his palm like a horse with a fly but otherwise Derek stayed still.

“Uh, about that, Mr. Argent.”

“Call me Chris, Stiles.”

“Uh… Okay, Chris. About buying Derek…”

Chris stepped away and Derek tipped his head back, his strong collared throat bared as Stiles started rinsing suds from his hair. When Stiles brought his other hand up to cradle Derek’s jaw in order to move his head under the spray, Derek opened his eyes.

He shifted and turned face into Stiles hand. Tentatively Derek mouthed at the base of his palm, then his lips latched onto Stiles’s thumb, pulling it in. The dairy-were began softly suckling.

“Look at that...” Argent broke into a pleased grin. “He wants to bond with you already. Good boy, Derek.”

Stiles, on the other hand, grimaced and pulled his hand away, setting it back down on the safer plane of Derek’s shoulder.

“Yeah… Great…

“I uh… Look, Mr. Argent. Er, Chris. I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d be interested in buying him back? Or maybe hanging on to him and finding another buyer for this big guy?”

There was a panicked flash of green eyes before Derek’s head dropped forward, tensed muscle turned to stone under Stiles hand. Beside them Chris frowned.

“It’s just… 2500. 00 is a lot of money.” Argent’s shift in mood kicked up Stiles’s chatter response.

“It’s pretty much what my semester fees are for college, outside what I’ve gotten in scholarship. I mean, we’re not the wealthiest, my dad and I.  I’ve been trying to save so my pop doesn’t have pay anything for my schooling… It’s a big chunk of change.”

“And, you know, I wasn’t really planning on buying a werewolf today when I got here. I’m not even set up for any of this at home… I mean, I don’t know the first thing about taking care of livestock.”

Stiles chuckled uncomfortably, “animal husbandry isn’t anywhere on my resume,”

“Stiles…” Chris held up his hand. “Look, I’ll do what I can to help you out. Set you up with all the tack you need, a milking machine too… should Derek’s milk recover.” He moved to the spigot to turn the temperature of the water up, since the dairy-were was suddenly shivering.

“Sometimes a producer goes uh… lax… because of stress. And despite his looks, Derek has always had a bit of a sensitive nature.

“If he does get back into production, you actually have quite the investment on your hands. You know, our best stud and male milker is a Hale, like Derek. And he’s currently insured by our farm for $50,000.00.”

Stiles’s jaw dropped at this. “No shit?!” He was too shocked to be embarrassed about the curse that slipped out. He glanced down at the ‘dick-broke’ werewolf under the spray with new eyes.

“Were-care isn’t all that complicated,” Chris continued. “I’ll give you a manual. One-on-one, it’s not that different from having a big dog, really. I’ll even pay the city’s fees to for you to get him ‘home organic’ registered too. Regardless of whether he’s functional or not.”

Stiles still seemed to hesitate. Chris turned of the water and grabbed two towels from the shower’s ample supply. He moved over and began to dry Derek’s still bowed head, tousling the clean dark hair in that masculine way that was both rough but kindly inclined.

“To be honest, Stiles… It would be best for you to keep him. At least for a while. If my sister is involved in this as you’ve indicated, Derek’s not safe here on the farm, really.

“And I can’t guarantee she won’t manipulate another buyer if either you or I try and place him elsewhere… So?...”

Derek clambered to his feet at a click of tongue from Chris. Stiles watched Argent efficiently dry the were’s thick legs. Legs Derek spread wider to enable the rancher to more easily dry his ass and his massive junk.

‘Dick broke’ or not, the size off the male milker’s udder and seedsac was still intimidating. Stiles didn’t relish the idea of having to perform this sort of intimate maintenance. Then he noticed Derek glancing at him. There were fresh tear tracks on the wolf’s newly dry face. The expression in his green eyes looked so forlorn.

Maybe he could teach Derek to dry himself? Among other things. Many other things...

God, he hoped so.

“Yeah. Okay.” Stiles sighed. Gathering up Derek’s damp lead, he felt in its thin length the weight of ownership. He sighed again, this time barely audibly.

“My dad is gonna kill me.”

* * *

“Easy there, big guy.”

Stiles adjusted his grip on Derek’s leash. The dairy-were had shied a bit at the rattle of the half dozen Redbull cans that clattered to the ground when he’d opened Roscoe’s rear door.

“This’ll just take a minute, so hold on now.” Stiles tried to manage his grip on the leash while simultaneously stuffing the miscellaneous debris in the back of his jeep into a couple crumpled McDonald’s bags.

Not that he needed to worry about Derek trying to pull away. The dairy-were had already settled back down from his startle and now simply stood there, curiously watching his new owner’s frantic activity while Stiles tried to clear enough space in the hold for him to sit.

“That should do it…”

Stiles spread out the stock blanket Chris had given him along with all the other supplies that now occupied the front passenger seat. He smoothed the flannel out and gave it a pat. “I know it’s not a trailer, but it’ll have to do until we get home.”

Derek’s eyes shifted from Stiles to the trunk and the furrows on his brow deepened. He shuffled his limbs a bit without really going anywhere. Stiles rolled his eyes, not so much because Derek was trying his patience, but because it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with the dairy-were, even in the near-empty pasture parking lot.

“You look like bondage Ken,” Stiles muttered under his breath as his gaze swept over the dairy-were, who wore, what Chris Argent had assured him, was standard traveling/public attire for stock.

Besides his collar and leash, Derek’s wrists were bound in leather traveling cuffs, his ankles hobbled by the same. In addition to this tack, he wore the same sort of get up Cora hand sported earlier, a short kilt-ish thing that barely covered the thong-like pouch his defunct ‘milking equipment’ had been tucked into.

Derek’s broad chest, meanwhile, was ensconced in a tight  mesh cropped top cut just under his his prominent pecs, which, in Stiles’s humble opinion, made the poor werewolf look more slutty than decent.

This wasn’t helped by the fact that, while covered, the front of Derek’s skirted thong did nothing to hide his massive bulge. And in the back, the ridiculous roundness of his ass strained the micro-kilt, leaving its flaps lifted and more than half his cheeks hanging out on full display.

“Come on, boy. You need to hop in here so we can get on the road…”

Derek wasn't being aggressively resistant but he certainly seemed reluctant to crawl into Roscoe. His eyes darted back towards the barn. He brought his cuffed hands up and scratched nervously at the low cut collar of his shirt.

It was stupid to bargain with an animal and Stiles knew it, since Derek would have no idea of what was being said. Still, he coaxed, “hey, buddy, you get in and I'll get you home. And you can get out of those itchy clothes. How about that?”

Though he promised the were a return to blissful bareness, Stiles was really in no hurry to be subjected to all that testosteroned flesh again anytime soon, but his tone must have been agreeable. Derek took another step closer. He flared his nostrils and sniffed deeply, scenting the Jeep’s interior. Then he shuffled another hobbled step forward and cautiously leaned in.

“That’s right, bud. Good werewolf.”

It was just looking to Stiles like he was going to be able to get Derek into the jeep without too much fuss when the milking stud suddenly sniffed again. Derek’s dark head shot up and his eyes widened at the sight of something over Stiles’s shoulder.

Before Stiles could turn to see what it was, the dairy-were gave low bleat and dropped to the ground. Considering how he was trussed, Derek scrambled under the Jeep with surprising quickness.

Unfortunately, in his attempt to hide, he ended up taking his new owner with him.

Stiles’s hand, caught in the looped handle of Derek’s leash, whipped him forward, and the next thing he knew the ground rose up to meet him. It knocked some of the breath out him when he went down.

After taking a moment to recover, Stiles’s dizzy head finally cleared. He looked over and saw a familiar pair of boots standing nearby.

His stomach twisted when his eyes traveled upwards to land on Kate Argent’s face.

Almost as much as the fall, Stiles was shaken to find her fury from before gone, replaced by a seductive smile.

“What do you want for him?”

Stiles pushed up from the ground, climbing clumsily back up onto his feet as she spoke.

“I’ll give you five grand for him right now. Twice what you paid.”

He gulped when Kate stepped closer and leaned forward to finger the collar of his flannel shirt.

“Uh, sorry no.” Stiles mumbled this out but didn’t pull away.

She brought her face close to his. Even after a day in the barn, she smelled amazing. Despite his previous exertions, Stiles’s dick started to chub when her bottom lip brushed the base of his ear.

“Ten grand, then. And as a finder’s fee, I’ll let you fuck me. Say yes now and I’ll use my mouth to warm you up.”

Stiles blinked, stunned by the offer. Kate shifted and her breasts rubbed against his upper arm.

He couldn’t believe that the woman in his dad’s magazines that he’d jacked off to was throwing herself at him. With his brain drained from all the blood that rushed his dick, he was suddenly tempted to take her up on her offer, but then a soft whine escaped from under Roscoe’s belly.

Stiles groaned at the reminder of why he’d bought Derek in the first place, and at the soft kiss feminine lips pressed to a mole on his neck. He shook his head to free it of the spell Kate was casting and took a step back.

“S-sorry. Still no. But thanks for the offer.” He turned his back on her and squatted down to peer into the shadows beneath his rig.

“Hey, big guy. Come on now.” He picked up the slack in Derek’s lead and gave it a tug. “How in the hell can you even fit under there anyway? That can’t be comfortable.”

“So, tell me? Why did you buy him?” Kate smirked. “Does it give a twink like you a thrill to have an impotent stud to service your dick?”

“What?” Stiles didn’t have to feign confusion.

Ignoring him for the moment, Kate huffed under her breath. “You don’t even know how to handle a were.” She crossed her arms over her chest and snapped,“Derek, come! Heel! Now!” She watched smirking as the milking stud slowly eased himself out from under the jeep.

A cruel grin flickered over her face when Derek sniffled and hesitated looking between his old and new owners. Then she returned to the topic at hand.

“Well, I’m gonna assume you’re gay, since you passed up a chance to fuck me.” The smile on Kate’s face slipped and her expression shifted to something far darker when Derek shuffled on his knees over to Stiles, wrapped his arms around lean legs and buried his face in Stiles’s jeans.

Looking up to see Stiles studying her, she quickly recovered herself and slipped her pleasant mask on again.

“Hey, to each his own, you know. I can work with that.” She spoke like they were confidantes. “Here’s the deal… I’m kind of attached to Derek. He’s been sort of a pet project of mine. And I didn’t really want to sell him, but I wasn’t given a choice.

“So I had a little side arrangement with that guy that you were bidding against…” Kate continued, having no idea that Stiles had spied on her and Simon earlier. “You keep him. Use him however you want, but rent him out to me every now and again. I’ll pay you well for the leasing.”

Unconsciously, one of Stiles’s hands drifted down, coming to rest atop Derek’s dark head while the dairy-were shuddered against him.

“I promise I won’t scuff him up too much.”

Derek surprised them both then by suddenly pulling away from Stiles. Leaning off to the side, the werewolf retched.  Stiles grimaced, the pleasant green aroma of the pasture displaced by the acidic smell of vomit as Derek threw up in the grass.

The poor werewolf whined lowly in between the spasms that rocked his heaving shoulders. Stiles thought he might puke himself, seeing the liquid mess of cum and piss Derek coughed up.

It was a foul reminder of everything the dairy-were had been subjected to.

“Ugh,” Kate sighed from where she stood. “You’d better get used to that. He does that sometimes when he’s stressed.” She added, “If you make him clean it up, he’s less apt to do it again.”

These words made Stiles more ill than Derek’s puking. As soon as Derek stopped heaving he set a hand on a shaking shoulder

“Come on, big guy.”

His voice was gentle. A tiny tug on Derek’s collar was all it took to get the dairy-were moving. Derek’s trembling intensified as they drew closer to Kate. Stiles, however, ignored her and patted the flannel nest in the back of the Jeep once more.

Derek climbed immediately in.

“I’m not too keen on the thought of you puking in my ride, so I hope you got everything out,” Stiles chuckled. He lifted his hands to Derek’s left ear. The dairy-were stiffened but stayed still as Stiles fumbled with the numbered tag he’d worn since he’d come into the Argents’ possession.

It was a little tricky, but Stiles managed to unlatch tag’s stiff catch and pull it out. He gave a ruff to Derek’s head before stepping over to Kate to press Derek’s stock number into her stunned hands.

“I bought ‘im. Derek’s mine now. And I don’t feel like sharing. No matter what you offer.”

Before Kate could say anything else he turned and shut the Jeep’s back hatch.

On his way to the driver’s seat, Stiles thought in that moment, despite how he’d just complicated his life, the look in Derek’s eyes as the backdoor latched was worth every penny he paid and the ones he’d just forfeited.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> As always, my special thanks to my brave reviewers.
> 
> Oh, and I know Chris should be wearing galoshes in the shower while he's washing Derek. I just wanted to see his feet.


	7. Sweet Cream

Out on the back deck, Stiles looked up from his laptop to check on Derek, just like he’d been doing every five minutes for about the last half hour. And just like every time previous, his new ward was just as he’d been before, lying quietly in the grass at the deck’s edge.

But for his collar the dairy-were was free from his bondage tack now, happily bare again, and, thankfully for Stiles, stretched out on his belly so his junk was obscured. 

Barn-pale skin had pinked slightly already from Derek’s time under the waning afternoon sun and many of his bruises had completely faded. The new triskele tattoo between his shoulder blades Chris had the technicians apply at checkout marking Derek as ‘dairy-decommissioned’ had also already lost its new-ink shine.

Right now, the stud had momentarily roused from his exhausted napping and appeared intensely focused on something in the grass between his cupped palms.

Curious, Stiles set his laptop down and moved slowly to the edge of the porch. “Hey, big guy. Whatcha’ got there, huh?”

Derek must have been really lost in whatever he was looking at because his wide green eyes, looked up, surprised. Rattling the lead on the new tie-out-trolley attached to his collar, his broad shoulders moved instinctively forward to hover protectively over his cupped hands. 

“What? You don’t want to show me?”

Stiles thought his tone was light but Derek immediately shot him an apologetic look and slowly backed off. A little shuffling and the stud was sitting up high on his knees, one hand tentatively outstretched surrendering the object of his attention. 

On his index finger balanced a...

“Ladybug, huh? Cool.”

When Stiles stretched out his own finger, Derek drew his hand back towards his chest. Stiles thought it was both funny and kind of painful, the way the big stud cradled the fiery dot on his finger anxiously against one of his overdeveloped pecs.

“Come on, I’m not going to hurt it.”

It was clear from the dairy-were’s expression he didn’t quite trust this, Derek looking more than a little worried.  A soft whining growl escaped him, but obediently he extended his hand again. Stiles reached out once more until he was gently bumping the insect with his finger. 

“There’s a rhyme about these guys, you know.”

He began reciting as the tiny beetle jumped the trembling ship of Derek’s finger and crawled over onto his.

_ “Ladybug, ladybug fly away home,  _

_ “Your house is on fire and your children are gone, _

_ “All except one and her name is Anne, _

_ “Cause she crept under the pudding pan.” _

Watching the ladybug spread its wings and fly off, Stiles whispered, “My mom used to sing that when I was little and we found one of those guys.” 

He shook his head pushing the memory back into its box. Stiles frowned when he looked back at Derek and found the dairy-were’s eyes filled with tears yet again. 

For an animal, his new stud seemed really emotional. But then, he had suffered through a pretty rough day, so Stiles tried to be kind about it.

“Awww… come on buddy. Don’t be sad ‘cause your bug flew away. There’ll be others. I promise.” 

He reached over and tousled Derek’s dark hair while he cast his eyes around the yard, looking for one of the toys he’d gotten at the petstore they’d stopped at on their way home to offer the were as a distraction.

“Uh…Hey now...” 

Derek had shifted so he could lavish the petting fingers with his tongue. Stiles pulled his hand away quickly. 

When he drew his hand back, however, rather than stop the unwanted oral attention, all this did was incline the dairy-were to lean forward and nuzzle into the crotch of his jeans instead. His dick twitched at the friction of the hot mouth on his denims. 

He gave one of Derek’s shoulders a light push and stepped back, frowning.

“No... Derek! Down boy!” 

This wasn’t the first time Derek had tried to get at his dick since they’d gotten home.

“What did I say about that? Bad…”

His scold was relatively mild but from the wounded expression on Derek’s face, one would think he had just threatened to beat him. Apparently that werewolf ‘bonding’ thing Allison had talked about was really a serious issue with these guys.

Despite being clearly upset, Derek minded and sank back down on his bent knees. Stiles was about praise him for being a ‘good boy’ when the sliding door to the house swished open and his father stalked out on the deck.

“Stiles!” 

John shouted like his son was a half-mile away and not less than ten feet in front of him. Just home from his shift, he was still in uniform and had a six pack hanging from one hand.

“Son, you want to tell me why I have Chris Argent messaging me at the station, asking me to be understanding about some dairy-were you just bought, and offering his help to sponsor your ‘rescue’ project?!”

The Sheriff drew up to the edge of the deck and stared down at Stiles and the quailing stock beside him.

“Holy hell,” he muttered under his breath. “I thought from Argent’s message, that maybe you brought a calf home. Or maybe some pretty cow that caught your eye. 

“But look at that brute! You bought a goddamn milk-stud?!

“What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous a male were can be?” John shook his blond head before declaring, “absolutely not!”

Stiles felt Derek trembling beside him. The sheriff could be intimidating, sure, but he on the other hand was used to his dad getting loud about new things. 

“Dad, Derek’s not dangerous. I know he looks a little er… overgrown... but so far he’s been nothing but a pussy cat.”

As if to prove Stiles’s assertion, Derek slunk around behind his legs to hide from the sheriff. It looked ridiculous, to be honest: 200+ pounds of sleek, buff, muscle curled up behind and clinging to Stiles twinky thighs.

“I mean, look at him, Dad.” Stiles snorted. “You scared him.”

John blinked, taking in the scene anew and seemed to realize the validity of his son’s statement. Then, seeing head of the male milker’s oversized udder dangling down, brushing the grass as Derek squatted above it, his face grew even redder than it had been in his anger. 

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Uh… Stiles… Is there something you want to tell me, son?”

“What?” Stiles forehead furrowed, perplexed.

“Well, uh… I mean, I thought you and that Martin girl had something going on. 

“I know you kids are way more… er… fluid… these days. And a lot of human kids experiment with the supernatural as they develop…”

Stiles didn’t know what was more appalling, that his dad was making an awkward attempt at being an ‘enlightened’ parent or that his old man apparently knew all about dairy-were ‘bonding.’

“Ugh! Dad! Just no!” Stiles needed to eradicate any misconceptions immediately. “Rest assured my interest in girls is cemented securely and that I have no intention of bonding with Derek.”

It was comical how relieved John looked at this. Though after a second his expression slipped back into something doubtful again.

“Look, son. I hope you’re not saying that just because you think it’s what I want to hear. I mean, curiosity is natural…”

“Gross, Pop! Stop!” Stiles begged, covering his ears. When he felt assured his dad wasn’t going to say anything else he allowed his hands to drop. 

Seeing that, if nothing else, this unpleasant conversation had at least shifted his father’s energy he decided to use the moment to his advantage.

“Hey, why don’t we go sit on the deck, and talk about my livestock ‘adoption’ a little more. I can lay everything out for you.” Stiles wheedled. “You can watch Derek, too. See how he behaves for yourself. He’s actually pretty well trained.”

This last comment lost some merit when it took Stiles a full minute to untangle himself from Derek’s koala grip. 

Noticing the way Derek eyed the space at the base of the deck once he’d lost him as cover, Stiles said firmly, “Stay...”  The last thing he wanted was for the dairy-were to squeeze under there and get stuck.

Derek didn’t look to happy with the order, but he didn’t disobey.

“See,” Stiles grinned moving over to grab his dad’s elbow and propel him back up onto the deck. “Like I said, well trained.”

John settled down on one of their worn wooden yard chairs with a tired sigh. He eyed Derek warily as he pulled a can free from the six-pack and cracked the top. The dairy-were quickly dropped his head against the scrutinizing blue eyes and lowered himself back onto his belly in the grass.

“So, Pop, let me tell you about my day! It’s crazy you know… How one thing leads to another.” Stiles chuckled uncomfortably settling into a chair of his own. “If you want to blame anyone, you should get after Scott… He’s the one who proposed we go to Argent’s farm in the first place.

“See, Scotty wanted some back up in supporting his new girlfriend Allison… You met her after that Lacrosse game last month… Remember? Anyway… So, I meet Scott and Allison at the Argent’s dairy farm because Lydia had to take stupid Jackson to the groomers...” 

Stiles opened his rambling gambit, adding in as many details as he could to stretch things out while avoiding the most upsetting ones. Though he didn’t really like his father’s near-nightly drinking routine, he knew he would be much more relaxed and hopefully agreeable once he got a few beers in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Derek, he's not out of the woods yet. Now he's gotta convince Papa Stilinski he's worth keeping.
> 
> Thanks for the great comments last chapter.


	8. Ranch Dip

“So let me see if I understand, here…”

Stiles tried not to roll his eyes at the way his father had gone into officer mode.

“You saw this dairy-were… being abused at Argents’ Dairy and then, after alerting Chris Argent to this, went on to discover that, despite the fact this milk-stud was being sold, Kate Argent has some sort of strange and abusive obsession with it.

“And that she’d engaged in a plot for private ownership of the stud, off-site of the dairy, so she could continue in her obsession unhindered.”

A buzz-cut head nodded in agreement, though this condensed version certainly robbed Stiles’s original tale of it’s drama. Of course, he’d also severely edited his own telling, glossing over the worst of what he’d seen: there was no reason to spike his dad’s blood pressure higher than it likely was already.

“So… Is she as pretty up close as she is in the magazines?”

“What?”

“Ms. Argent. Kate. Is she as pretty up close as she is the _Vitality_ photo spreads? I've seen the other Argents in town, but she's a bit of an enigma ever since she came back from college.”

After everything he’d just told his dad, Stiles decided to attribute this question to the three empty beer cans at the base of his chair and a recent dearth of dating history, not some terrible lack of compassion.

“Not really…” he replied truthfully. “In fact, I’d say she’s decidedly unattractive.”

Silently considering, John nodded picking up a fourth beer, only to set it down again a few moments later unopened.

“So in summary… because of Ms. Argent’s abusive designs on that dairy-were over there, you spent a good chunk of your college money and brought home a long-lived, defunct, institutionalized farm supernatural for us to now keep as a house pet…

"Despite the fact you’re headed of to college in another year."

John’s eyes tracked Derek who crawled down the yard along his trolley-line gathering up the few toys Stiles had bought for him.

“Uh… Yeah. Pretty much.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “I mean, it doesn’t sound all that great when you say it like that.”

“No, son. It really doesn’t.”

John shook his head. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “You know, my grandpa, your great grandfather Stilinski, used to run dairy-were on his farm. His little creamery was nothing like the Argents’ operation though.”

Stiles eyes widened having not heard this before.

“Once I hit about 6th grade, I think. I used to get sent out there every summer to help him.

“Livestock needs a lot of attention to thrive. Worked hard there.”

Despite his son’s intrigued expression, the sheriff showed no interest in elaborating. Instead, he pushed up from his chair and ambled to the edge of the porch.

He picked at the thin gel-coated wire Stiles had attached to the deck’s railing and his eyes followed it to where the other end was anchored in a tree at the far end of the yard. The little pulley Derek’s lead was clipped to squeaked as it rolled along the line with the were’s limited wanderings.

“This gonna be enough to hold him?” He gave the cable a thrum that instantly had Derek looking back at them. “Looks pretty flimsy to me.”

“It's way stronger than it looks,” Stiles was quick to offer. “The lady at the store told me it’s spelled to hold. Rated for weres, kanimas, hellhounds… So there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Derek was upright as he walked back towards them now, his few toys held low in his hands, over his groin. If he’d been a person it would have looked like an act of modesty. Not that it did much good, his udder was so long it peeked out below anyway as did his deflated scrotum.

“I also got several packs of wood ash spikes from the petstore too, for the perimeter of the yard. To keep him in, if he does get off his trolley.” 

Stiles nodded a little guiltily to the unopened bags of spikes laying near his laptop.

“The were-specialist at the store said they should be placed no more than six inches apart and driven down deep so they can’t be easily pulled out. So it’s taking awhile to do. I’m only about half done.”

Remembering the way Derek had nervously shadowed him around the yard as he worked and how anxious the wolf was the few minutes he disappeared into the house to retrieve his laptop he added, “But I don’t know that we’ll even need them. I think the fence should be enough. Derek doesn’t seem like he’s gonna be the type to want to go off on his own.”

John’s face didn’t mirror Stiles’s confidence.

“Derek, huh?” It was the first time he’d used the were’s name and the way he said it was like he was tasting it, deciding if the appellation was palatable.

“And the money for all this stuff?”  The sheriff stepped down off the deck.

Seeing this, Derek halted in his tracks until John clicked his tongue at him. The stud went a little wide eyed, but silently shuffled over.

“Mr. Argent told me to charge it to their house account. And he gave me most of the rest of what he said I’d need. A whole bunch of stuff: travel tack, a weather wrap, a milker… just in case…And a care manual…”

Stiles didn’t like how this conversation was going or his father’s displeased expression.

“I put that stuff in the garage. I thought I could clean it up a little and we could keep Derek there at night and when the weather’s bad.”

“That garage is a disaster, Stiles.” John huffed, confirming Stiles’s fears. “Do you know how much trouble he could get into in there? Dairy-weres can be curious creatures.”

Now that Derek had reached them, John slowly reached in for his toys. After their ladybug exchange, relief washed over Stiles when Derek made no sounds of complaint and easily relinquished them.

“You know stock like this needs to be exercised regularly to stay healthy. Right? More than just trolleying around the backyard.”

The sheriff took the toys and handed them over to his son. There was a were-nip scented frisbee, a rubber carrot squeaky toy, a ‘full-moon’ ball, and an apple-shaped stuffie.

“Easy,” John gruffed, seeing Derek stiffen as he reached for him now. The dairy-were stayed still but quivered as he began running his hands over muscular arms.

“And do you have any idea the calories it’s going to take a day to keep a stud this size fit?”

“Chris, Mr. Argent, said he’d help with the were-chow,” Stiles offered helpfully.

John shook his head. “Were-chow…” There was scoff in his tone.

“You know, son, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you relying on Argent for this guy’s needs. Seems to me, if you took this on, you need to be responsible for his care entirely.”

Stiles was about to protest this but his dad cut him off.

“They must depilate at Argents’ huh? Cause I never saw a natural-farmed stud so smooth.

John’s calloused palm rubbed over one of Derek’s fat hairless pecs. Then he began kneading it roughly. The dairy-were kept his head down, eyes respectfully averted, but a low sound began building in Derek’s chest.

“Shit!…” Stiles exclaimed, imagining his father would be pissed at being growled at. “Sorry, Dad.”

“What are you sorry about?” John laughed slapping Derek’s chest sharply a few times.

He took a nipple between his fingers and twisted it until the broad chest hitched at the pinch.

“Easy, stud…Yeah, boy… You like that, huh?.”

He let go and lightly scratched his blunt nails in soothing circles around the bruised bud. The low sounds Derek made increased in volume.

“You’ve never heard a were purr before. Have you, son?” John looked over at Stiles and winked.

“Grandad had a big ol’ stud… Nowhere near this well-muscled though. Loved having his tits pulled like he was a bitch. A little rough play got him sounding just like this.”

John chuckled at Stiles’s stunned expression. His hands didn’t stop though. They explored the flat, ridged scales of Derek’s belly alternating between strong rubs and equally brusque small smacks.

“He’s a little rough looking but his confirmation is pretty amazing.”

Thick fingers measured the cut of the dairy-were’s adonis belt, before John encircled one of Derek’s heavily muscled thighs with both his hands. As he slid them up Derek spread his stance so his palm could easily slip up between leg and dangling ball sac.

“Can you imagine how powerful he’d of been in the wild?” The sheriff clicked his tongue in consideration.

His tone lost some of its cheer when he picked up Derek’s udder. “They said he’s ‘Dick-broke,’ huh?”

Stiles about choked on his tongue when his father pulled back Derek’s bountiful foreskin to reveal the dairy-were’s dry tip. John gripped Derek’s rod and gave it a few good strokes. “Man, this has to be ten inches at least, limp. It must have been a monster when it worked.

He rubbed his thumb over the fat head of Derek's cock-tit, then focused on the slit, teasing it until Derek began to whine. “Sensitive, huh, fella.” Even though he said this John didn’t stop rubbing. He even scored Derek’s piss/seed hole with his thumbnail and smirked at how Derek shivered.

“Feels like he might be chubbing a bit. Maybe he isn’t as broke as they said.”

It was all Stiles could do to stand there, the way his dad was handling Derek, even though he knew he was conducting the same sort of stock inspection he’d witnessed more than a dozen times that day at the auction.

“This sac though…” The sheriff’s hand lifted Derek’s massive scrotum. He kneaded the soft wrinkled skin searching for the stud’s glands. “Odd that his milk-makers feel so small when his bag is so big. “Probably way over-milked him.”

Stiles wondered if his face was half as red as Derek’s, who was biting his bottom lip hard and sported a blush that bled from brow to breast. It got darker when John took the loose skin of his sac and pulled it from each side, stretching it almost flat but for the bumps of Derek’s balls.

“What breed did you say he was?”

“H-hale,” Stiles stuttered.

John dropped Derek’s milkbag and straightened. He caught the were’s chin with two fingers and lifted Derek’s bowed head.

“Really? And you got him for just 2500?

“Hey big boy, look at me now… Yeah, that’s right. I’m not gonna bite you.”

“Pretty eyes.” John hummed when Derek finally met his gaze. “Little wild looking right now.” He stroked his fingers over strong cheekbones. “You nervous, fella? Huh? Everything new… You’re being good though.

“Wonder if he’s one of the original Hales? How old did you say he is?”

“23…” Stiles watched Derek close his eyes as his dad massaged him just under the base of his ear.

“This scruff looks good,” John rubbed a thumb over Derek’s close-clipped stubble. “Gonna be a trick to maintain this every day though.”

“What do you mean,” Stiles interrupted this running commentary, “original Hales?”

“Hales are named after their original ranchers and are one of the oldest dairy-were lines in California,” his dad replied. “The family that ran them lived here in Beacon hills for centuries. It was a natural dairy, free range. Had a huge parcel of land… You know The Preserve…”

As he said this, John teased Derek’s bottom lip out from between his teeth with a few strokes of his broad thumb. A tap on Derek’s chin had the stud opening his mouth.

“Yeah.”he continued. “You were maybe two when the fire happened. Your mama used to get their milk for you when we could afford it. Such a fussy kid, but a little Hale bitch milk in your bottle at night and you’d sleep the whole night through.”

The Sheriff sighed at the memories stirred.

“Whole ranch burned up in one night. The entire family was wiped out. Half the stock. So that would have made this guy here about eight, I guess.

“Hmmm… his breath isn’t bad.”

“I brushed his teeth no too long ago,” Stiles said absently. After Derek’s puking episode it was one of the first care tasks he’d tried when they’d gotten to the house. He was remembering the little rhyme about the ladybug he’d told Derek. If the stud had surrvived that fire it could have been a traumatic reminder. He was suddenly glad Derek wouldn’t have understood the words.

“You make sure you do that for him at least once a day. His teeth look good and you’ll want to keep ‘em that way. Bet he looks sweet when he smiles.” John brushed away a fat tear as it rolled down Derek’s cheek.

“Almost done, fella. Hang in there for me, huh.”

The sheriff set a hand on Derek’s shoulder and moved around to the dairy-were’s back.

“That crying thing…” Stiles watched his dad massage Derek’s shoulders and rub around the new tattoo. He must have hit a sore spot that lingered under the now unblemished skin as the wolf gave a soft sob. “He seems to do it a lot… Is that normal?”

John shrugged. “Most likely just stress. He’ll probably wean out of it once he settles in.”

Tapping the back of Derek’s thigh twice, he smiled, pleased, when Derek bent his knee, lifting his foot so it could be inspected.

“Good boy.” John rubbed over Derek’s foot chuckling as the dairy-were quivered and huffed. “Little ticklish, seems like.

“Your stud’s even got pretty feet. They’re soft though, from barn living, so you’ll want to watch that. He’s gonna need to build a little callous.”

Stiles made a checkmark with his finger. “Noted!” What he’d also noted too was the way his Dad was talking now. Calling Derek ‘his stud’ and talking about tips for care was hopeful.

Hope was quickly replaced with discomfort, however, when after he set Derek’s foot back down, John tapped the stud in the dimple just above one of his ass cheeks.

The sheriff frowned when Derek stiffened and refused to bend over.

“You know, Argent swept in before the embers had even cooled there at the Hales. Bought up every last bit of stock.”

When Derek made a soft choking sound, John placed the whole flat of his hand in the same spot and pressed until the wolf finally folded. “I was pretty new on the force then. My boss… Well...Let’s just say I didn’t agree with him.

“He eventually declared the fire was started by some drifters passing through, but I always thought it was Gerard. Greedy bastard.”

“Come on stud,” John coaxed, “You’re okay.” He rubbed a soothing circle in the small of Derek’s back hearing the were hiccup as he tried to stifle his sobs.

“Hey son, you want to grab his collar. Hold him. Give him a little bit of a pat. He’s getting kinda riled up.”

Stepping up, Stiles claimed the lead where it attached to Derek’s collar. Thinking about all he’d omitted from his story before, he mumbled, “he might be a little sensitive about his butt, Dad.”

Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair and didn’t even scold when the were butted his head into his belly and began to mouth the fabric of his tee shirt. He figured he could always change later if he got super drooly and the last thing he wanted was for the stud to act out and ruin his father’s increasingly amenable mood.

“Thanks for the warning.” A big hand palmed one of Derek’s fat cheeks and began to knead it. John massaged the supple flesh until the skin beneath his palm was a pink as it had been from earlier spankings.

Passing the time until the dairy-were settled a bit and some of the tension had bled from Derek’s body, the sheriff continued on in his story of the Hales.

“You know, some folks round here who held the same suspicions I did, said Argent did it because the Hales were said to have ‘articulates’ in their herd and Gerard was mightily against that. But I didn't see it. I just always thought it was money-lust and envy, plain and simple.”

“What's an ‘articulate?’” Stiles asked this while frowning down at the dark head below him. Derek wasn't suckling anymore but his shirt was still growing damper. If the dairy-were continued to cry this much he was going to run the risk of dehydration. He made a mental note to give him a good watering soon.

“An heirloom-were. Ones that weren’t so dumbed down after humans’ supernatural conquest. Animals yes, but smart. Reputed to be able to make simple vocalizations.”

Stiles eyes grew wide. “Wait! You mean they could talk?!”

“Mimicry mostly,” John answered, a hand on each of Derek’s smooth cheeks now, prying them apart. “I never saw one myself, but supposedly. Though I always thought with the Hales that bit was more hype to market their product... ”

His words dropped off seeing Derek’s tortured hole. “Well, no wonder, he’s sensitive about his butt… Damn... “ He tsked in sympathy.

Derek ass wasn’t gaping, really, but it looked well used and nowhere near tight. The skin around his battered hole was still purpled, the lips of his pucker remained mightily puffed.

He shot a stern look at his son. “This can’t be that old, knowing how fast were’s heal, Stiles. You didn’t mention this when you told me you saw him being picked on…”

“Dammit!” The sheriff accentuated his curse with a smack to Derek’s ass that made the dairy-were shy a bit. He clicked his tongue to steady Derek and rubbed over his handprint in unspoken apology.

“That’s why they need to have age limits on who’s allowed to go to those things!”

John’s face slipped from anger to concern. “You okay, son? If you saw any of this, it’s alright to feel upset.” Without giving Stiles a chance to answer his dad gave a soft, disgusted snort.

“Yeah… Makes more sense now why you’d bring him home. I don’t blame you for being shook up, though this response is a little extreme.” Blue eyes stared at Stiles. “Wanna talk about it?”

Stiles dropped his eyes away from father’s gaze and shook his head. “Nah… not really.” Glancing back up he saw his dad was still looking at him with concern. “I’m okay, pop. Really. I think it was Derek who got the worst of it, you know.”

John stared a moment longer than nodded slowly. He turned away glanced back down at Derek’s ass where he’d pried the dairy-were’s cheeks apart again. “You’re a good kid, Stiles,” he hummed. One of his thick fingers dipped to trace Derek’s ravaged hole. “Misguided sometimes, but good.”

Derek whimpered at the brush of the sheriff’s fingers and Stiles was glad for the noise as it drew his father’s attention. While he loved hearing it, his dad’s praise always left him uncomfortable.

“Bet you’re tender as hell here, huh, big boy?” John nodded to Stiles to hold Derek’s collar tighter. “Anyone check him over for more serious damage inside?”

He pressed against Derek’s bruised pucker with two broad fingers. The dairy-were lowed a long-suffering groan as his ass opened up and let John’s fingers in.

Stiles petted Derek’s head and shushed him. “The Argent’s vet rinsed him out and  gave him a quick once over. Said he might need his were-chow softened for a few days but that other than that he should be fine.”

For having been cleaned like Stiles said, John’s eyes widened in surprise at how sloppy Derek’s ass still was. His fingers were instantly coated in slick and clear fluid dripped from Derek’s re-opened ass.

“Easy, bubba,” he soothed as Derek’s broken groans grew louder. Despite the noise and his trembling, Derek remained otherwise pliant. “Yeah, good boy. I bet that stings, huh. Someone rode you hard and put you away wet, didn’t they. This poor ass must be aching something fierce.

"I'll be gentle with you, fella. But you gotta stay loose. We'll be done here in a minute.

"See what I'm doing here son?"

Stiles was about as red as the stripes on his flannel because he saw only too well what his dad was doing: finger-fucking a dairy-were in the middle of their backyard.

"The way I keep talking to 'im. He can't understand half of what I'm saying but the soothing tone will help keep him settled."

"Oh..." at his misunderstanding Stiles's cheeks flushed hotter.

Meanwhile, unconscious of this, John pumped his fingers in and out, his face thoughtful as he probed, feeling for any significant damage. All the while he murmured, “Easy… Easy… You’re being so sweet for me…”

Stiles added over his father’s stock mantra, “I’ve got an appointment made with Deaton too though, for the day after tomorrow.”

“Good idea." John pulled his fingers out at last. "Man his prostate is barely noticable... This guy's tank is really empty.” He continued to rub around the ring of Derek’s winking gape, all but hypnotized by the angry dark-pink, glistening center within its rhythmic pulse.

He looked up when Stiles phone rang. John wiped his fingers on Derek’s ass cheek and motioned for Stiles to let Derek go.

While Stiles fumbled in his jean pocket for his phone, Derek remained bent over until the sheriff slid a hand under his hitching belly and urged him back upright.  He stood close behind Derek then and rubbed over the dairy-were’s tits occasionally thrumming one of his nipples to soothe until Derek’s breathing evened out.

“Shit!” Stiles cried when he saw the number on his phone. “It’s Lydia!” He looked at the time. “I… Got so busy with Derek I forgot we were gonna go to that new Meryl Streep movie tonight.”

“She’s been going on about that all week! Man… When I tell her we can’t go, she’s gonna kill me.”

“Meryl Streep, huh?”

John stared at his son in amusement.  Removing his hand from derek’s chest, he stepped back so the dairy-were could quietly collapse in a huddled crouch at his feet.

“Sounds like that Martin girl’s got you a bit whipped, son.”

He reached down to give a few rough rubs to Derek’s head, since the stud was clearly still upset. He grinned watching Stiles blush.

“Tell, you what. Why don’t you go on to your movie.”

“What about Derek?” Stiles asked, his eyes wide.

“I got him.” John said. “For tonight…” he added sternly. “After that, he’s your responsibility.”

“Seems to me you had a hard day. Be good for you to take a break from your rescue duties.” He chuckled at Stiles’ ecstatic grin. “Plus, I’ve never been one to stand in the way of young love.”

Stiles’s thumbs were already flying over the phone as he texted Lydia back. “Omg… Thanks pop!”

He all but tripped over Derek’s small trove of toys before reaching the deck. Muttering to himself about shirt changes and the were smell in Roscoe’s interior before he disappeared into the house.

“Don’t bring any other beasts home tonight but yourself, son!” John called after him.

He watched Stiles salute before he flew off with a soft, fond chuckle. He stood then for a few moments after his son was gone, his ass-sticky fingers still combing through Derek’s soft hair.

Eventually his attention returned to the silent stud kneeling at his feet.

He caught Derek’s bangs in his fingers and used this grip to gently tipped the dairy-were’s bowed head back. Those pretty, wild green eyes glittered tear-glossy back up at him.

John offered Derek a small smile and a sigh.

“All right, stud… Let’s see about getting you settled in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my great gratitude for the content laden comments last chapter. They make this writing thing worthwhile. Thank you, seriously.
> 
> So, this could be the end of this fic, but I think I may have one more chapter in this prequel. Interested in a bonus before I moooove on?


	9. Bleu Cheese

Dusk’s shadows were long in the yard. John sat in his chair on the deck, that fourth unopened beer was in his hand again, much warmer now, it’s tab still unpopped.

Even though it should have been Stiles’s task, he’d finished lining the yard’s perimeter with the wood ash stakes not long ago.

He felt more comfortable knowing the backyard was secure. Although, he now held the same opinion as his son about the Hale dairy-were’s present disinclination to wander. Derek seemed the shy sort and since Stiles left, had shadowed his every move about the yard, albeit from a safe distance. 

John looked up from his beer and one side of his mouth lifted in a grin. Even now, Derek was crouched down at the edge of the deck, peering over it at him with those wide green eyes.

“You can come up here, big guy.” he coaxed. “Like I told you before, I don’t bite.”

Derek drew back at being addressed, but as the sheriff had said before too, dairy-were’s could be curious creatures. John patted his thigh and clicked his tongue in encouragement. Still on his tether, Derek hesitantly climbed the steps of the deck though he looked like he might bolt any minute.

No longer bare, the stud wore the stock coat Argent had sent with Stiles. John had put it on him about an hour ago, worried that with his industrial history Derek might be somewhat sensitive to the outdoor’s fluctuating temperatures.

It had pleased him how the stud had behaved, standing perfectly still while he put the wrap on him. It said a lot about Derek’s temperament given the day he’d had. That sweet sort of long-suffering submission stirred memories of some of John’s favorites among his grandad’s small herd.

Standing just inside the deck, Derek’s hands plucked nervously at the hem of his coat. His fingers worried the soft fabric.

Employing the strategy he’d discussed with Stiles, John kept up a soft one-sided conversation with the were.“You like that coat, bubba? Nice and warm, right.”

The grey flannel garment was a like an oversized hoodie. It hung down to Derek’s mid-thighs, but still wasn’t long enough to cover all his dangling udder. It struck John odd how, dressed like this, Derek seemed somehow nakeder than when he’d just been bare.

Sleeveless, the openings at its sides for the stock’s arms had been cut low for ease in donning. The coat’s hood was off at the moment and at the wide cut “v” neck, John admired Derek’s collarbones and the swell of his muscular pectorals.

Seeing the blush the cooler air brought into the dairy-were’s cheeks, he hummed. “Bet it’s been a while since you been outside this long, huh?”

Derek of course, didn’t answer, just dipped his head to the side and nuzzled his scruffy cheek into the fabric of the coat’s collapsed hood.

As Stiles’s father, patience was something the sheriff had spent seventeen years cultivating, so he had no problem allowing the wolf to take his time drawing close. Eventually, however, when it seemed Derek ventured as near as he was going to, John popped the top on his beer and held the can out.

“Hey, big guy. You want a swig of this?”

While alcohol had no effect on them, his Grandfather’s weres had loved the taste of beer. Watching the flare of the stud’s sensitive nose as he scented the air, John wondered if Derek would be any different.

“Come on.” He took a swig himself.

The dairy-were took another few steps closer. Then, about four feet away from him, Derek lowered to a deferential crouch. John took another swallow and grinned. “My aren’t you a polite one. Seems someone taught you good manners.”

The sheriff opened his thighs wide in invitation and held up the can again. Derek hesitated a minute, then dropped his head and crawled forward until he knelt between his legs.

“The way you’re shivering, I guess we should go take a look at that garage soon.”

Catching Derek’s chin in his hand John lifted his bowed head. A tap on the fuzzy jaw and Derek gave a hard swallow and then opened his mouth wide.

“Good boy. You keep up this sweet behavior and it might not be so bad keeping you around for a bit.”

Careful to keep the rim from touching Derek’s lips in case he wanted some more himself later, John tipped the can, dribbling some of the beer into the were’s waiting mouth. When it hit his tongue, Derek’s eyes sparked in surprise but he clearly found the flavor agreeable.

He swallowed it down eagerly as it trickled from the can.

“Thirsty, huh?”  John chuckled and continued to pour.

Derek kept up pretty well but some of the pale-amber fluid still escaped and dribbled down his chin.

Seeing this, John stopped and set the can aside. He rubbed a thumb over Derek's stubble, wiping the spilled liquid away. Once it was gone, however, he didn't pull his hand back. Instead, his thumb found Derek's bottom lip and brushed over it.

Having the dairy-were between his knees so sweet and pliant stirred more memories of those adolescent summers he'd spent on his grandfather's farm. Besides just work, other dairy-were interactions he’d had there came back to him.

“You’ve got a pretty mouth, big boy. Makes me wonder how Ms. Argent might of used it.”

Derek’s breath seems to hitch at the quiet comment but then as if in answer, he parted his lips and slowly sucked John's thumb between them.

The sheriff didn't move at this. Instead, he kept his thumb where it was, allowing the wolf to suckle. After a few minutes, he began to pulse his thumb back and forth over the wet slick of Derek's tongue.

John hummed, thoughtful. Seeing the way the werewolf’s eyes closed, despite the tears that gathered at their corners, it surely appeared as though Derek found the succor of his thumb as relaxing as he found it stirring.

“Sounds like my boy doesn’t have any plans to bond with you.” The sheriff’s voice was rougher than usual.  

“We should do something about that, I guess. If you're going to be staying here a while.” He pulled his thumb out and rubbed it over Derek’s lips making them shine before sliding it back in between them.

While even two hours earlier the sheriff would have never considered such a scenario, at the moment it was seeming more and more like a little intimate one-on-one with Derek would be beneficial for both of them.

“I know from past experience how important bonding is for you guys. And after so long at Argents’ we need to make sure you know who owns you now.”

Derek of course, didn't answer back verbally but he leaned his dark head against one of John's thighs and nuzzled into it, still holding on to his thumb.

Pulling his thumb out of Derek's mouth, John lifted his hips off his chair enough to unbuckle the work jeans he'd slipped into after Stiles had left. Drawing his cock out from the slit of his shorts, the front of his jeans hanging wide open, he took his half-hard dick and gave it a little wiggle.

“Come here, boy. You know what to do.”

The dairy-were barely hesitated before leaning in and wrapping his spit-slicked lips around his member.

“Fuuuck,” John sighed. It had been so long since he’d had any mouth on him and Derek clearly did know just what to do.

And then some.

Wanting to enjoy this first bonding to its fullest, John leaned back in his chair to get comfortable. But before he did, he grabbed the shoulders of the stock coat and urged the werewolf closer until Derek’s head hovered over his lap, the wolf’s muscular arms tentatively set just to the outside of each of his thighs.

The stud used his mouth, skillfully nursing his dick to full hardness. The way Derek wrapped his lips around his teeth to ensure softness, how he lavished his cockhead before sliding down to take the thick shaft all the way down his throat to the root... It was amazing.

“Damn… that’s good. Someone really trained you well, didn’t they? Fuck…

“Those Argent’s may be crooked but they sure as hell know how to run their stock…”

It was an almost perfect moment: the sheriff's body pleasantly fatigued, the evening air still slightly warm. John felt like the king of his castle, indeed, behind the privacy of his fence, sitting on his deck with the early crickets chirping in the background and the hot mouth on his dick diligently working him to release.

The only distraction from this bliss was the occasional tickle of scruff that reminded him who exactly was sucking.

But that could be at least partially fixed though.

Derek’s tongue did something particularly wonderful and John grunted in approval as he pulled the jacket’s hood over the dairy-were’s dark head. A moment later,  John leaned forward and hiked up the back of the coat too, revealing a pleasing expanse of pale hairless skin.

While muscular, disregarding the stud's broad shoulders, Derek's waist was trim enough, his denuded ass so round and plump, that with just a small stretch of the imagination John could almost imagine that it was a woman like Derek’s former owner between his legs and not some accommodating animal.

He rubbed his hands over Derek's smooth back, the flannel-warmed skin quickly cooling beneath his calloused palms.

“Damn… you know, until Stiles brought her up, I hadn’t really thought about Kate Argent for a quite a while,” he mumbled more himself than to Derek. “Don’t care what my boy says, crazy or not that gal’s a looker.”

It could have been the mention of his old owner or the fact John’s fingers had found their way to his ass again and were once more skating around his pucker, whatever the reason Derek’s head stopped its bobbing.

“Easy now…” John gruffed. “Know you had a rough patch but you need to stay open to being handled, stud.”

Rubbing over Derek’s rim he could feel the swelling had gone down considerably, it was still oddly wet though. “Besides, nobody’s gonna bother you back here.

“For a while at least,” he amended. “Not when you have such an easy mouth.”

This seemed to get Derek back on track. The wolf going back to work on his cock, showing even more vigor.

“Fuck yeah...”

Groaning in pleasure John leaned back in his chair again, but not before delivering a playful tap to Derek’s right buttcheek. He closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of secondhand ownership.

“You’re a smart one, alright. I can see why Kate liked you.” Slitting his eyes, John took in another snapshot of hooded head and bare ass once more. “She ever think to drink your milk straight from the source, stud?”

There was a hitch of Derek’s throat around his dick but otherwise the dairy-were didn’t falter.

“Yeah, I can see it…” John grunted at the image, feeling his climax barreling up on him. “Her under you in the straw, that gorgeous mouth straining even to fit in the tip of your udder.

“Shit…”

John wrapped his hands around the back of Derek’s hood. “Easy,” he warned when the stud stiffened and it seemed like he might pull back.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” John praised the moment he felt Derek go slack. “You just sit pretty and let me feed you.” Using the hood, he held the were's mouth on him. His cock swallowed down to its base John slid to the edge of his chair so he could fuck through his orgasm.

As he did, he kept Derek’s nose pressed into his pubes until he was sure that his dick had stopped twitching. When he slid back out of the were’s throat at last, Derek coughed wetly and gasped for breath.

John waited until the dairy-were stopped panting before he pushed Derek’s hood off and ran his fingers through sweat-damp bangs.

“Good boy, Derek,” he said, using the dairy-were’s name for the first time directly.

He caught the wolf’s jaw and raised Derek’s face. The dairy-were’s eyes were teary, chin sloppy, his lips blushed and cock-bruised.

John decided it was a good look on him.

Then his eyes traveled lower and he saw a few dark spots on the wood decking under the were. Urging Derek up on his knees he noted that while not hard, Derek’s udder was more than halfway there. A string of clear fluid dangled from its tip.

“Looks like you liked that too, huh, big boy?

He reached down, swiped this off with a finger and brought it to his nose. It smelled salty and sweet. John sucked the whey off his finger. The moment it hit his tongue a buzz of energy coursed through him and all the mild aches of the day’s exertions faded.

“Hmmmmm…”

He pressed Derek back down and clicked at him to clean up his sloppy cock. While the were’s tongue laved his spent dick clean, John studied the stud through new eyes.

Maybe Stiles’s money hadn’t been entirely misspent.

That little drip of whey was incredibly promising in terms of possibly ‘unbreaking’ Derek’s dick. But more than that, if Derek’s pre-product was that potent, John could only imagine what the quality of his milk would be if they could coax it back in.

He reached back for his open beer to cheer this potential prosperity but as he brought the can to his lips, realized suddenly he really didn’t didn’t have the taste for it.

“Huh? Well, isn’t that a pisser.”

Then John winced as Derek’s attentions hadn’t faltered and his limp dick had become over-sensitive.“Okay, stud, that’s enough now.”

Since there was no reason to waste it, he offered Derek the last of the beer as a treat. Watching the were’s strong throat as he gratefully gulped it down, his mind filled with possibilities.

Once the can was empty, John stood. He unclipped Derek’s lead from the trolley and after coaxing him back up on his feet, he walked with Derek out to the far back corner of the yard.

The dairy-were shied a bit when John grabbed his dick but he settled quickly enough. “Alright Derek, I don’t want you scorching my lawn all willy nilly. So this is gonna be your potty spot for now.

He gave Derek’s cock-tit a little pull. “Come on and piss for me.”

It took a minute before the red-faced were managed to eek out a few drops but after that he got a pretty good stream going. While Derek pissed John kept up his verbal ramble, hoping this would further Derek settling smoothly.

“Make sure you get everything out… I’m going to walk you to the garage back through the house and I don’t want anything in your tank in case you feel tempted to try marking up my territory. I know how you studs can be about that.”

Once John was confident Derek’s bladder was good and empty, he led him down onto his knees in the grass by the grip on his udder. When Derek was down far enough, John wiped the tip of his cock-tit on the grass to dry it and then let it go.

“If you’re really good, I might let you hang out in the kitchen with me while I scrounge up some dinner.”

A tug on Derek’s lead had him rising back up onto his feet. “I’ll get out that were-chow for you too. I mean, I’m sure it sucks but you can’t just live on beer and jizz now, can you?”

The sheriff chuckled as he led Derek off towards the house. “If that were the case, my grandad’s farm would have never gone under.”

_____________________________

It was after eleven when Stiles got home.

Like most dates with Lydia he found their hours together had left him horny and frustrated and at the same time, maddeningly, even more enamored.

All in all though, it had been one of their more successful dates. The movie with Meryl Streep had been hard to sit through, but she had allowed him to hold her hand, so that was progress.

He’d even gotten to put his arm semi-casually around the back of her seat towards the end of the flick. At least, until his hand dropped a little too low over her shoulder and grazed the top of her left breast.

It had been well worth the smack she gave him though. And that soft swell beneath his fingertips was a memory he’d definitely be jerking off to later.

Quietly, Stiles let himself into the house. His brows rose in surprise when he peeked into the front room to see the couch was empty, the room silent. He’d fully expected to find his dad in his usual spot, passed out on the sofa in front of the tv surrounded by the remnants of his second sixpack.

He tried the kitchen next and frowned, encountering an evidence of pots and pans that indicated his pop had actually tried cooking something. Then his eyes were caught by a ceramic dish on the floor next to the sliding glass doors that led to the back deck.

_Shit._

He’d gotten so caught up on his date, he’d forgotten about Derek.

He wanted to tell himself part of this might have been because he hadn’t mentioned his dairy-were drama to Lydia.

Not that he wasn’t eager to portray himself as a hero, but knowing what an animal lover she was, he’d worried she’d want to spend their date cooing over Derek. (Although in all fairness, she wasn't really the sort that cooed.)

Also, he wanted to have the chance to read the manual Chris gave him and do some research, before broaching the topic with his well-read girlfriend. Call him petty, but looking ignorant in front of her was not something he enjoyed.

Stiles sighed, he was a small person and a terrible pet owner. Unlike his Lydia.

Lydia had willingly left Jackson with the petsitter that evening but only after insisting they bring him along with them after the movie when they went to the diner.

He’d found it hard to fully enjoy his curly fries when the booth Lydia picked gave them a great view of Jackson glaring at him through the windshield of her car outside. But even then with the kanima as a reminder, Derek and his dad hadn’t really even crossed his mind.

Hearing noises at last that indicated activity, Stiles stepped up to the door that connected the garage to the inside of the house. He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders, wondering how much fiercer his father’s face would be than Jackson’s for having been saddled with his unwanted ward for so many hours.

When he felt ready to endure an hour-long lecture about responsibility and his lack of it, he opened the door.

What greeted him, however, was not at all the scene he’d imagined.

The garage was bright with light and a jaunty country tune played on his father’s old portable radio. He was shocked to find the first end of the garage had been stripped all but bare. At the other side, near the garage door was all the stuff that had been shifted. 

His dad was kneeling with a drill in hand beside a shallow wooden framed box that was elevated up off the floor by a few inches. Derek knelt beside him apparently helping hold the board his father was screwing.

Blood rushed to Stiles’s face at this picture. Not because it was a strikingly human position the dairy-were was in, but because Derek was dressed in his stock coat, and bent over as he was, his bare ass, balls, and the tip of his udder were all on display.

“That should do it,” John said with a grin, rocking himself up from his knees with surprising spryness. “Good boy for holding that, stud.” He set the drill aside and ruffled Derek’s hair, laughing at the were’s low purr and the way Derek chased after the touch without rising.

It was only then John looked over his shoulder and saw his stunned son.

“How was the date?”

This was not the response Stiles expected and he couldn’t help but blurt, “Aren’t you going to get after me for being so late?”

“Is it?” John looked up at the clock over his denuded tool bench. Seeing the time he turned back to Stiles with a grin. “Must have gone good then.”

Stiles stared at his father. “What’s happened to you in the hours since I left?” He stepped up closer. The sheriff’s eyes were bright and absent was the odor of alcohol he normally wore like cologne at this hour of the evening.

“Guess, I just lost track of the time setting stuff up for Derek here.” John wandered over and pulled an old egg-crate mattress they used for camping off an otherwise bare shelf and unrolled it into the bottom of the box he’d just finished.

“You know, you could say thank you.”

Motioning to the pile of stuff John started, “tomorrow early you can help me load that stuff up. That there on the right is for the goodwill the other, Old George said he’d be by with his truck about nine and you can help him haul it to the dump.”

“Hey, bring that basket over, will you?”

Stiles was still processing as he picked up the laundry basket his pop had indicated and carried it over.

“Spread those around in there. I think there’s enough in there your stud should be able to make a good nest.”

Mechanically Stiles followed the order. Beside him, Derek peered in wide-eyed wonder into his new nesting box at each old blanket added.

“I called Kyle, he owes me a favor or two. He’s gonna come out next week and take out that shop sink. Put in a shower stall for washing. Derek can piss in there too. I’ll have to see if the drain can handle shit but until then…” John set a metal bucket next to Derek’s box.

“Got a wood ash grate ordered for the window to keep big boy there in. And in terms of keeping folks out, I thought we might want to start using the house alarm system for a while again; if you’re worried at all about Ms. Argent keeping up her interest in him.”

The was a dull ‘clink’ when John tapped the bucket with the toe of his boot. “Hopefully he won’t need this. You should take him outside for a piss before bed and that'll help. Far right end of the yard is his potty spot. He’s used it a few times tonight, so he knows where it is. Held his cock-tit at first to make sure he put it in the right place but last time I took him he squatted right where he was supposed to, no problem.”

John turned to Derek and his grin was surprisingly fond. “He’s a pretty smart boy. Aren’t you Derek?

Derek looked up from the pile of blankets, his cheeks were bright pink, his expression pleased but still fearfully shy.

“There’s a bowl for water. He should be good for food til morning. And... Oh!” The sheriff pointed out a steel plate with a ring embedded in it bolted into the concrete floor. “Put that in. That travel tack you have for him is runed for holding, so gear him up and link his cuffs to that chain there. It’s long enough he can get comfortable in his box but short enough he won’t be able to wander around and get into anything.”

Stiles was amazed at everything his dad had done, especially how he’d seemed to feel about Derek earlier. Not to mention, his usual pattern when he got off work was a short repetitive route that looped from the tv to the fridge.

“Thanks, dad. Really. But… How much is all this stuff gonna cost?”

John shrugged. “We’ll take it out of what you make when Derek’s milk comes back in.” Stiles's disbelief must have shown on his face because his father held up a hand before he said anything. “Trust me, son, I’ve got a good feeling.”

With that he stepped over to give Derek one final pat. Derek leaned into the touch before shifting to carefully mouth at his hand.

“Now I’m gonna turn custody back over to you.” As he gently pulled his hand away from Derek’s affectionate nipping the sheriff gave Stiles his first sharp-eyed stare since he’d returned from his date.

“Make sure you get him settled in good. Potty, water, you can leave the radio on low to keep him company and there’s a nightlight there too. I don’t want to be woken up by him howling. He’s not a puppy that can sneak in bed with you if he’s lonesome.

“And you can turn that space heater on too. He shouldn’t be able to reach it once he’s hobbled and I’ve already warned him not to touch.”  Derek shrunk back just a bit when the sheriff turned his ‘business’ eyes on him.

“Got it?” The way he said this made it clear this was for both of them.

Satisfied, he put his tools away and left the garage leaving Stiles alone with his new dairy-were ward.

Stiles stared at Derek after that until the were dipped his head uncomfortably and whined.

“How in the hell did you do that?” he asked, suddenly wishing that Derek was an ‘articulate,’ able to let him on on the spell he’d clearly cast over his father.

However, all Derek did in response to the question was sit there head down and mute, rubbing the hem of his stock coat between two fingers in an act of silent self-soothing.

Stiles sighed and picked Derek’s lead up from a hook on the wall. He clipped it to Derek collar and gave it a tug that had the dairy-were rising.

“I don't want to have to trek all the way out in the yard in the dark. So if you’re smart enough to learn where to piss in the yard, let me show you another ‘potty spot,’” he said before leading Derek off to the downstairs bathroom.

Twenty minutes later Sties had Derek ready for bed per all his dad’s instructions. He had taken the stud's coat off figuring between the blankets and the heater the dairy-were would be plenty warm enough.

As he watched Derek nestle into his nest, despite the fact he was naked and cuffed there was something kind of sweet about the way the stud scratched around in his blankets, bunching them up and twisting around in them clearly just shy of delighted.

Then Derek’s eyes caught him watching and he stilled. It was like the wolf had forgotten his fear for a moment.

“Like those blankets, eh, buddy?”

At his mild tone, some of Derek’s sudden tension slipped again from his broad shoulders. Stiles stood still as the dairy-were moved to the edge of his box. Derek carefully reached out his cuffed hands and took one of Stiles’s. He nuzzled it gently with his nose and pressed what was clearly a kiss into his palm.

Then Derek slid back into his blankets, his body curling in as though bracing for a blow.

It did something strange to Stiles’s chest. Maybe his dad had felt something similar? He decided he’d think more on this later. For now, he just picked up one of the loose blankets and draped it over Derek’s tattooed shoulders.

With this act, Derek stared up at him with eyes that were both fearful and painfully hopeful.

Stiles pushed this aside for later too. “Alright, big guy, you heard my pop. Behave, okay? If you’re good you might get to hang around here for awhile.” Unable to take those big green eyes any longer Stiles turned away and turned out the light.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Derek. Goodnight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's your bonus chapter.
> 
> Now all the boys are settled in until their next adventure.
> 
> Hope you liked it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
